


The Devil's Walk

by fuchsiagrasshopper



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Awkward Romance, Crimes & Criminals, Eventual Smut, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gotham City - Freeform, Murder, Rating May Change, Shyness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-20 22:06:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2444849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuchsiagrasshopper/pseuds/fuchsiagrasshopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You want to smell and touch her hair. Feel her heat and the soft of her skin. Taste her sweetness until it rots away your crooked teeth," Miss Mooney was looking at him, unimpressed on her throne. He tried to keep still in his seat, but her look caused him to feel crucified with damnation. "Now let me tell you something my little Penguin, that will never happen."<br/>Cobblepot/OC AU Pre-Gotham</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Exceptional Morning

He was tall, lean, and completely arcane. The color of his midnight hair ran ominous down to the base of his neck, like a murky river. He was pale like a full moon, and the surfaces on his perfect teeth were blinding as he smiled convincingly to the woman behind the front desk, charming like a worm on a hook. She responded in kind, doe-eyed and bashful.

It might have escaped others comprehension, but Oswald was not describing himself. He was a silent spectator to the inveigler at the hotel desk, dressed as smartly as him in a dark suit. The conversation he was sharing with the woman was too hushed for him to hear, like a breeze caught up in a storm, but their signals were obvious. In fact, Oswald prided himself on his ability to read people and dire situations, it served as a useful tool in his line of work. Then again, it might have been the very reason he was into his line of work at all, if one could call it that. He was still a lowly acolyte to Fish Mooney, something that was unchanging.

He was currently in the middle of a task of completing a job she had given him (one of the many), something he wouldn't have volunteered for if it had been out of his way. The reason for his being there was his own, and Miss Mooney hadn't bothered to pry, only because she was too caught up in her momentary glee that the situation had worked in her benefit. So here he found himself in a rundown hotel on 52nd street, aware of his instructions while he waited to take care of his own matters first.

He quivered when a chill ran down from his neck to his shoulders, residual water dripping from his hair after the trek through the rain to get there. His knobby knees bounced up and down impatiently, his umbrella tucked between them as he sat forward in his seat. It wasn't with anticipation that he was jumping about in his seat, nor was it with dread. He was in a bit of a hurry, considering he was finishing a job for Miss Mooney on his own time.

The philandered finally got his room card, and Oswald watched with vague interest as he disappeared down the short stretch of hallway that led away into the seedy joint. No one booking a room here was from out of town, he knew this well considering what his own intentions were. This was Gotham, and nearly everything had a crime element tied to it, or some other shady matter that one wouldn't want their mother finding out about. Oswald hadn't seen his mother in a while; perhaps he'd make a visit after this day was done.

It smelt like mold and dust, and by now he was getting tired of waiting, his frosty eyes narrowing while his thin features pinched together in a horrible twist. He felt over his crooked teeth with his tongue, savoring the spearmint taste that had lingered from the mouthwash he had used before his way over. He had been so nervous that he had swallowed half a mouthful, burning his gums and causing a canker sore or two in the process. It shouldn't have been any trouble, but he wanted to appear somewhat put together in appearance. The weather had seen an end to that, and the rest of his confidence had been swallowed away by the tall, dark and more physically appealing man from the desk.

"Chester?" His head rose at the calling of the pseudonym he had given. Oswald Cobblepot might not have been a known name around Gotham yet, but he wasn't about to besmirch it in a place like this.

He rose from his seat, and his entire person thanked him for leaving the stiff cushions of the chair. All of the fluff had long since vanished from being sat in too many times, making the chair more of a relic than an actual piece of furniture. His eyes connected with the stranger who had called for him, her blue eyes filled with false life as she ushered him towards her room. He had to remind himself this was a place where business was conducted; in and out, swift and quick. The woman gave him a flirty smile which he returned with one of his shifty ones.

"Well darling, where would you like it?" She asked while twirling a curl of her fake red hair. He gazed around the small room in accordance to her question, finding nothing appealing about the vermillion walls or the stained carpet. The woman seemed annoyed by his lack of answer, hands gripping her hips tightly as she swayed from side to side on her feet. "You look like a first timer, so I'm sure the bed will suit you just fine."

He nodded once, half expecting her to take the lead. She had all the courage he lacked, stripping herself of her robe (that belonged to the hotel) revealing the thin cotton nightgown beneath. It was threadbare, and the neckline plunged purposefully by the looks of how many times it had been tugged and pawed at. She strode her way over to the bed, crawling into the sheets from where they had already been pulled back. She beckoned him forward with a finger, and he was inclined to follow as he awkwardly walked out of his own layers, save for his thin white t-shirt and briefs. He sat down next to her, feet straight up in the air under the covers with his hands folded in his lap.

"So Chester," She said with knowing that it wasn't his true identity. He wondered how many 'Chester's' she had seen already today, but then decided it was better not to think about that. "How do you want it?"

"Quickly," He responded while keeping the shrill crack from entering his voice. "Just quickly ma'am."

"A quickie for your first time hmm?" She teased, and he flinched as her thin digit trailed down the dove grey skin of his arm. "If we're moving ahead with this, you're going to have to call me something other than ma'am. That makes me feel like a grandmother."

"What s-should I call you?" He asked, cursing at the small stammer in his speech.

She leaned into him until he could smell the soap she had used previously during her shower, evident by the wet tips of her short hair. He wasn't attracted to her in the least, but then that was why he chose her to begin with. Unimpressive and unassuming would keep him detached from the event.

"Who do you want me to be?" She whispered huskily, making her sound more like she was a heavy chain-smoker than a lustful seductress.

He trembled as she moved astride him, looking up into her foggy eyes as he thought about his exceptional morning. "Rosalie." He replied in a breathless whisper.

* * *

_Six hours earlier…_

"Oswald honey," Fish Mooney called as she entered left from the bar in her nightclub, dazzling in a violet gown that sparkled like the midnight sky. "Come here for a moment."

He pushed himself out from the bar stool and away from the paper he had been reading. Gotham's headlines didn't really differ from day to day, especially if one had lived there their whole life. For Oswald it was the same old story, and he was brought comfort by that fact. This was home.

"Yes Miss Mooney?" He asked dutifully. Butch was at her side, his thick neck covered by a black turtleneck that he had on beneath a sky blue dinner jacket. He was sending Oswald a sideways smirk, the likes of which he was accustomed to seeing on the man's face.

Mooney surveyed him critically, and as always he shifted from such scrutiny. "I've got a little task for you, something I would only entrust to my Penguin."

Butch snorted like an animal beside her, and Oswald felt himself grow cross-eyed with anger. He did his best to keep reserved, but something about the pig noises coming from that man's mouth made him silently seethe. If he was a Penguin, then that made Butch a hog. "Anything you request Miss Mooney." He replied with airy politeness.

"We have a guest, someone I've been given to entertain for a week, but you know I get so busy, and I need someone to step into the role when I'm otherwise . . . occupied." She stated her words in drawn out sentencing, adding the odd pause for a mysterious effect. It always seemed to work too, at least on her goons. Oswald fancied himself a cut above the rest.

"You want me to?" He asked with an air of incredibility.

She threw her head back with a laugh, brushing the fuchsia fringe from her eyes as she gazed at him with the type of hunger she viewed the world in. "There's no one I trust more." She said while giving Butch an icy look. It helped to reassure him that Butch and the others weren't fit for the task.

"I won't d-disappoint you, on the contrary, it would be my genuine pleasure to do this for you," He said, tacking on sweet praise with a hint of brownnosing. "When do I start?"

"Right now," She retorted. "Frankie, bring her here."

Oswald felt his heart fall down like a lump of coal in his chest. It hadn't crossed his mind that he would have to be in the company of one who was of the opposite sex. Beside Miss Mooney and his mother, he was a bit stilted around the female species.

Broad Frankie appeared at the doorway, keeping his hands to himself while he brought in the woman beside him. Gotham's dank weather had not affected her skin in the least, for Oswald could not remember ever seeing a richer olive tone. Her caramel hair was wrapped into a smooth twist on the back of her head, and her coffee colored eyes were cast down to the floor in the most demure expression he had ever seen in the club. Her attire was neat, all white in a pencil skirt and blazer. Even her heels were pearl white, perhaps to match the chain of beads tied around her neck, collar tight.

"Oswald, say hello to Rosalie Scangarelo," Miss Mooney spoke, gesturing with her hand to the young woman who was now looking at them—or rather through them. "She is Mr. Falcone's niece, and she'll be residing with us for the week."

Oswald tried not to let his eyes widen more than he was certain they already had. "It's a p-pleasure to m-make your acquaintance ma'am." His hand was suspended in the air between them, waiting to bridge the gap of strangers, and getting clammier by the second when she didn't immediately respond to the gesture. When her eyes shot up to his he nearly flushed, but was saved the humiliation because of the dim club lighting.

"Hello." Her voice was soft and drab, a sign of her weariness and melancholy.

Their hands met in a brief shake, and then there was the embarrassing moment when she made to pull back, only for her fingers to snag as his brain still hadn't functioned to give the command to let go. He half smiled an apology, and she only winced back at the sight.

"Ms. Scangarelo, I can guarantee you will be in good hands with Oswald. He's very obedient." Miss Mooney cooed his praise, but he doubted if it was winning her over. "Is there anywhere you would like to go pigeon?"

Rosalie shook her head while she held onto her small clutch purse with both hands. "For now I think I would like a drink."

"A good idea," Fish agreed with a chuckle. "Frankie, get us something, but not too strong for this one. Her uncle wouldn't appreciate that."

Frankie computed with a head nod, not using his words like the lurch he was. Rosalie turned and followed to one of the bar stools, Oswald watching her all the way until he noticed the calculated look Miss Mooney was giving him. "I-is there anything else ma'am?"

Her full lips bloomed into a sinister smile, and he swallowed thickly in fear. "Now my Penguin, don't be getting any ideas in that silly little head of yours. I'd be helpless without your company."

"Of course n-not." He agreed.

"It looks as though I don't need you right now," She remarked, inclining her head back to glance at Rosalie who was sitting with her legs crossed, a tantalizing vision with an amber drink in hand. "But there is another problem that needs tending to. Ralphie ignored the warnings. I must not have been clear enough the first and second time. Could you be a doll and go pay him a visit?"

With no other answer plausible, he took her instructions, agreeing to the test.

* * *

_Present…_

He didn't feel any different after the deed was over. The woman had already left his side, fussing with her hair before the cracked vanity mirror while he straightened his waistcoat and tie. He hated the smell of the room from first entering, and it was something worse now; dirty and sinful. Fastening the button on his jacket, he stood from the bed, slipping into his shoes, belonging on his feet that appeared too long for his body. He dug around in his pockets for money, pulling out crumpled bills that he had haphazardly tucked away before making his excursion into the city.

"How much?" He asked quietly.

She looked at him through the mirror, not bothering to face him again now that she was back in the nightgown and robe. "For a first time, I charge three hundred."

Three hundred for his virginity; that seemed like a pricey business venture. It was worth it though, to at least rid himself of one of the ridiculous titles that plagued him. He tossed the amount onto the side table, and not a cent more as he made for the door with his umbrella in hand. He didn't particularly care for the way she had stepped on it while on her way to the bathroom when they had first finished, and he dusted it off and inspected it for any damage. There was no need to carry the marks of this place with him, and he wouldn't be seeing her face again anytime soon hopefully.

The door shut behind him in a cold and final manner, and he found himself back in the tight hallway of the hotel on 52nd street. He did not move from his place, looking out into the lobby where the woman behind the desk gave him the go ahead, locking the main door to the lobby while she pointed to the room door before his sight. He nodded his appreciation before she made herself scarce, and he was left alone in the hallway for his next task that needed completing for Miss Mooney. Raising a hand, he formed a fist and knocked on the door, waiting a moment before the familiar sound of footsteps came to answer the call.

The dark and handsome face of the man from the lobby appeared. Handsome Ralphie; the one who didn't pay what he owed. "What do you want?" He asked rudely, judging Oswald with his gaze as he looked him up and down.

"Hello Ralphie." Oswald said, sneering in delight.

Ralphie's eyes widened with the realization that he had been found out, and he tried to quickly shut the door and barricade himself in his hotel room, only for the door to catch on the end of Oswald's umbrella that he stuck through the threshold. He shoved back at the door, knocking Ralphie onto his back inside the room. Moving quickly, he stepped onto both of Ralphie's hands, the best way to overpower him before he could get aggressive and take the upper hand.

"Please, what do you want?" He cried, struggling like a squirming animal on the dirty rug to shove Oswald aside.

"It's too late for that," Oswald said, his voice black while he fixed the sharp end of his umbrella over Ralphie's left eye. "Miss Mooney sends her regards." And he pushed down with all of his strength, awakening a terrible scream. Ralphie shook and trembled until he went silent.

Oswald loved silence.


	2. Day 1: Cold Feet

It did not take Oswald long before he came to the conclusion all on his own that he found Rosalie Scangarelo entirely lovely. It was the little things that he first took notice of in his discreet watching of her. Her small hands tapping idly to a wordless tune or her feet cross and uncrossing at the ankles with each shift in her seat, were just a few of the things that brought him delight to witness. He had to be discreet of course, in his spying, for Miss Mooney was already watching him with the keen eyes of a tiger. It kept him on his toes and served as a reminder that what he was doing was not only completely inappropriate, but dangerous too.

In all honesty, it was likely vanity that compelled his eyes to her, drawing him in hopelessly like a bee to flowers. It wasn't as if she had said more than two words to him yet, so it had to be of a physical nature. There was no guilt shed on his part for that. The thing that moved books off of shelves was the convoluted idea of 'love at first sight'. Not that he was in love, but he could admit to strong feelings of infatuation. She was a new face, fresh and exciting, delicate and beautiful, everything that he had always been told he would never have.

They were alone now, meaning he was reining in less with his staring. She couldn't notice only because his eyes were shielded behind dark sunglasses. Not the most inconspicuous disguise as it was raining heavily outside, but she didn't seem to notice or at least made no comment if she did. Currently they were driving around Gotham in the back of a slick black car, one with the back extended with the seats facing across from each other. Rosalie was seated across from him, the whitest beacon in the vehicle besides his fair skin. It was impolite to leer at a lady, something his mother had always taught him from a young age, so he kept his gazes respectful. In intervals he would shift from her face to her hands, and then down to her crossed legs, but never up passed her knees. They looked soft and smooth, even beneath the thin layer of nylon. His spindly fingers wanted to steal a touch of them, but that would have only been possible if there was a table situated between them with a large tablecloth draped over, keeping all prying eyes out; Rosalie's included.

The sigh escaped from his lips before he even knew what was happening, drawing the inevitable attention of Rosalie. Her cheeks were a little more flushed from the drink she had shared with Miss Mooney, and it caused a lofty look to blossom in her eyes that set loose a cage of bats in his stomach. It seemed her lips were moving before he could prepare, causing him to work fast on preventing a blunder as she began to address him.

"You're very quiet Mr. Cobblepot. Is that supposed to be for my benefit or were those Miss Mooney's instructions for you?"

His instructions were to keep her company, but he had no delusions that he was a trusted bodyguard, not when her driver had shown himself. Oswald sometimes had his suspicions that there was a certain height to body mass ration that needed to be met in order for one to be with the mob. Could have been what was keeping him out for so long.

"N-no not that, you can address me as Oswald ma'am."

"Oh alright," She agreed with a small and brief smile. "You can call me Ro, everyone else does."

He frowned slightly, his mind made up that he wouldn't call her that if it was something she was expecting from him. He wouldn't be another shade of grey in what he thought was her dreary life. "That wouldn't be the proper behavior for me to follow."

Her brow arched in a quizzical expression. "Fish said you were polite, but I think you're a bit stubborn too."

He laughed with force, and maybe to cover the flustered feeling brought about by her compliment, or whatever it was. Her stare was blank in return, like she couldn't quite understand what the amusing part was, and he hastily cleared his throat, struggling for breath when he swallowed a queer combination of saliva and air. Rosalie set her purse down on the seat beside her, making the bold leap to jump across the expanse of the back seat to come along beside him, patting him on the back so he could catch his breath.

"Don't go dying on me, I need you for a whole week yet and we've barely started this affair."

Water leaked from the corner of his eyes, unnoticed once again because of his sunglasses. He heeded her words, a bit too carefully perhaps because of her use of the words need and affair. He wouldn't fail her now, something in his brain computing that he was charged to her for a reason, like Lancelot to Guinevere. He was conscious that her hand was still on his back, tucked between his shoulders and he had no way of begging for her to remove it when he began a nervous tremble. The small tremors wracked his body, and he hoped to whoever was listening that she would stop staring. If she stared for too long, she might see him, and that was his greatest fear.

"I assure you that I am well now," He said in what was his politest form of dismissal. "It would be safer if you returned to your seat." Safer because she would be less likely to end up in harm's way, lest he commit some form of larceny upon her; an untoward touch or caress.

She looked like she wanted to make some form of protest, and he wondered if he was a rarity to tell her no. She was Mr. Falcone's niece after all. Instead, she shifted back over to her seat, knocking on the window separating them from the driver. "Could you stop here please?"

There was a curt nod from the driver, and the car began to slow into a full stop in a neighborhood that was not all well to do like the so many streets of Gotham. Rosalie snatched up her purse and was stepping out of the car before Oswald could make a move to stop her; the result of being left stupefied by her proximity, but he recovered quickly, scooping up his umbrella as he made to follow her.

"Rosalie!" He called, voice fragile but stern as he hurried in uneven steps to catch her through the rain. She answered to the sound of her name, hair already drenched at the top with a smile playing on her mouth. It probably had to do with his stubborn determination and the use of her full name. He was grateful she waited for him regardless, and as a courtesy he opened up his umbrella, unleashing it like a weapon. She seemed to survey his actions as he wielded it above his head, stepping closer until it shielded them both from the pouring rain. "You'll g-get sick from a chill." And then he'll get scolded by Miss Mooney for it.

"That's very considerate of you Oswald, thank you," She said, looping her arm through his, forcing yet another contact between them. His arm grew taut, hanging between them like a piece of steel as she guided him forward. "I used to come here all the time when I was a girl, well, when I was younger than I am now."

He was perhaps one of the best guides of Gotham considering his affinity for his home, and he had filed away in his memory that the location she was indicating to was a small café were musicians were free to exploit their musical talent on the clients. It had a classic look of old and rundown, even when it was new, and he was pleasantly surprised by her apparent affection towards the establishment. "Are you gifted in the musical arts?"

"No," She declined wistfully. "But I am an excellent listener, and I would sometimes dance on occasion, if the particular song struck me and I was in a well enough mood."

He would dance all of her songs with her if she asked it, even if he looked like an awkward hobgoblin while doing so. "You grew up in Gotham too?" He asked in somewhat infantile delight. Unfortunately, Rosalie didn't look to share his sentimental attachment to the city, the light leaving her eyes until they looked like two puddles of murky water.

"I've never left," She said despondently. "And I won't be going anywhere anytime soon, not with my recent engagement."

Oswald thought he might trip over himself, and he realized it was his world spinning in on itself. "You're engaged?" He choked out forcefully.

"Miss Mooney didn't tell you . . . strange."

It wasn't. It was a bait, to see what he would do without this information and whether or not he would have to return to Miss Mooney with his tail in hand. "That's lovely for you. Congratulations."  _And let her husband-to-be's eyes be plucked out from his head by crows._

"I suppose it's an event to say something like that, but I'm not happy about it Oswald."

"I don't understand," He really didn't. "Aren't you in l-love?"

"No, of course not," She said, now leading them inside the small café that was almost completely desolate. "I mean, he's not bad, but when does a person like me get to marry for love? The notion doesn't exist; my life is dictated by my family."

She pulled out one of the wooden chairs, its uneven legs scraping against the floor as she took her seat at one of the unoccupied tables. Folding up his umbrella, he joined at her side, only noticing just now that her driver had not followed them. It was the only reason she could be open with this story. Oswald couldn't feel like he could relate to her on any level now though. She had been born sucking on a silver spoon, whether she had asked for it or not, whilst all he had growing up was his mother—whom he loved dearly. Empathy would be the best approach, and he was already superb at that because of listening to Miss Mooney all day.

"I'm sure they are only looking to protect you. You are Don Falcone's niece after all."

"I think that's written on my birth certificate," She said sarcastically. "But I suppose there's a certain romanticized quality to growing up in this lifestyle. Is that why you so desperately want to be a professional criminal?"

Her inquiries had him feeling twitchy, but he wouldn't press the panic button just yet. "Gotham is my home, what else would I be doing?"

She seemed stuck on an answer for him, her lips forming an 'O' before she smiled thinly. "Good point. You need to have edge to survive, and I haven't met anyone who's entirely good in this city."

Neither had Oswald, but he was keeping his eyes opened to the one who would have the fatal flaw of a bleeding heart. He kept quiet with that thought, only the music from the old piano in the corner of the room making any sound because of the gentleman seated at it. Rosalie was looking at him hard, her visage still shaded to him behind his dark lenses.

"Take off your sunglasses." She commanded suddenly.

"Why?" his voice was a fragile whisper, and he kept his hands hidden beneath the table as they shook.

"Because I like your eyes," Her head tilted to the side, not a woman to be trifled with when she was used to getting what she wanted from any man, excluding her Uncle. "Please Oswald?"

 _Only for you._ His hands slid up to the frames, grasping each arm between his fingers until he drew them back off his face. He kept his eyes downcast, afraid he'd see her wince back again if he looked her in the eye. He heard her chair scrape back, and her once pristine heels, now dirtied from rain water, were standing directly before him in his view as well as her opened palms.

"Dance with me."

She gained his attention again by trick of command. Miss Mooney was right, he was obedient. But Rosalie wasn't expecting anything from him but his company, and he was usually never the one broached for that, having never had a proper friend that wasn't kept behind a cage. He set his umbrella down on the table with the sunglasses, stripped of his armor as he gingerly took her hands in his own, and my was he surprised by how small hers were inside of his.

"See, I'm not so horrible." She jested, moving her hands from his grasp to rest down against his chest while his moved accordingly around her waist. His hold was veil thin, barely there on the small of her back that dipped in a smooth curve like a bow.

"I know that." He wheezed a nervous laugh before his face fell into a calm expression. The piano player was watching them as he switched to a slower tempo of despairing romance. Rosalie's fingers were spread wide on his chest, feeling up and down slowly on the material of his waistcoat and tugging at his tie, but to what purpose he didn't know. What would Miss Mooney say if she saw them together right now? Nothing good, no, Oswald was certain of that.

"I think I'm looking forward to the rest of our week," Her tone was as cool as the rain water that seeped into his clothes, and he could feel his own heart beating as she wrapped a hand around the end of his tie, giving it a gentle tug as she gazed up at his face. "This has been a wonderful evening, memorable for me."

Could it really be? She must have had so many great memories because of the advantages of her upbringing that he failed to see how this moment would be anything but trite for her. Indeed, his life paled in comparison to hers. Oswald didn't say anything else though, terrified he would ruin the moment when his heart was abound with ardor. He just held her until the song was over, and the time arrived for her to return home for another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This all seems sweet doesn't it? You know that means it won't last, nothing does in Gotham. I want this story to be unconventional in the telling, where it proceeds to move backwards in how the normal development of a relationship would occur. Next chapter will have Rosalie's POV for a little bit, so we can finally see what she is thinking of Oswald. His are pretty clear here, so let's stick on track with that. Also, any thoughts on last night's episode?! Poor Robin Lord Taylor just bit the dust on Walking dead on Sunday also (spoiler alert for those who are just getting into that)
> 
> Chapter song: Before my time by Scarlett Johansson (I didn't even know she sang for the longest time, but it's beautiful!)


	3. Day 2: Great Aspirations

Rosalie hummed quietly to herself as she brushed her hair in front of the cherry wood vanity. The tune from the piano at the café had stuck with her, and she was singing it to herself without words while watching as the bristles of her brush combed from root to end through her toffee colored hair. She was happy, so happy that she couldn't recall a time when she had felt this blind exuberance. It had everything to do with her new shifty friend whom she had been considering throughout her nightly routine before bed. Her expectations for the week had not been different from what she had always expected out of every other day in her life, but Oswald had caught her by surprise. It had been a long time since she had been surprised, pleasantly at that.

"You're in a good mood Ro." She jolted in her chair, dropping the brush as it landed with a  _clatter_ on the surface of her vanity. Dominic was standing at the doorjamb; she could see him through the mirror as he watched her with a funny expression. His smile was teasing, something he was constantly doing to her while in her presence. She tried to prevent it from happening, but she could already feel her good mood seeping away.

"You startled me." She said quietly, reaching for her brush again to continue with the repetitive task of brushing her hair.

"Sorry," He wasn't, but this was always the extent of their conversations. She was curious, and a little annoyed that he decided to step further into the room. He was wearing a suit like always—dove gray, with a salmon pink shirt underneath—but she couldn't stop thinking about her hands on Oswald's forest green waistcoat. Dominic never wore three piece suits. "How was your day with the Penguin?"

Her face slipped into a sad frown, and she momentarily forgot that Dominic knew of Oswald. Sometimes she had heard her fiancé laughing with other members of her Uncles network about 'the Penguin' but she had always been outside of the joke, not knowing who he was. She had been caught off guard too, that morning when she had first exchanged greetings with him at Mooney's club. Perhaps he wasn't the most striking male, and she could admit to even being slightly put-off by his crooked smile and gripping handshake, yet there was an attraction that churned in her gut that went beyond the depths of narcissism. She did know more of him now, and it caused her distress to hear of her new friend spoken of in such a disparaging way. "Don't call him that."

Dominic looked at her with scrutiny. "Did I hit a nerve?"

Her eyes fell to her lap, and she had to quickly think of something to say that wouldn't cause more trouble for Oswald. Dominic wasn't bad, but he would make a person's life hell just because he could, and Oswald was an easy target for someone in his position. A thought came to her, a card she had played several times before yet it never lost its value against her groom-to-be. "He's the one protecting your fiancée while you're busy, doesn't that earn him your respect?"

She was rewarded with the reaction she had anticipated. Dominic's brows furrowed and he nodded his head to concur (not without a roll of his eyes tossed in though). "Fine, have it your way, spoiled brat."

She tried not to cringe from his words, or when he stepped close to her, leaning down to place a kiss on her temple. She could feel the large golden ring on the skin of her cheek as he brushed her face with his knuckles, that brutish way of showing affection that he insisted on while around her. She avoided his gaze discreetly; staring up at his hairline instead and the way his dark brown hair was slicked back to his neck.

"Do you have work tonight?" She asked as a way to divert his attention from her. His staring always got to her, probably because of his shark eyes that were black and scathing. If he started to take his steaks bloody, she would be concerned for her welfare.

"I have to go meet your Uncle for a job. If we finish early, I could be back around three, but I probably won't get finished until the morning, so I guess I won't see you," Because after a job followed a visit to a strip club; Ro knew this well. "I'll say hello to your cousin for you. He's been showing up unannounced and it's been driving your Uncle crazy."

She soured at the mention of her cousin Johnny. He was so desperate to rise in the ranks of her Uncle's business while he was still a kid, when all she wanted was to separate herself from it as far as she could. "That's always been Johnny." She said, only to realize the room was vacant once more when her echo bounced back to her with no reply.

She set her brush down and sighed in despair, feeling like a prisoner to the four walls of the expensive apartment. From the corner of her eye she spotted the cordless phone sitting on the nightstand, and she grew tempted to call up Oswald, only to remember she didn't have a number to get into contact with him. The only number she had been given was Miss Mooney's, and she didn't exactly feel up to a chat with the fiendish club owner. Dejected, she shrugged out of her white satin robe, hooking it onto the footboard of the bed before crawling into the cool sheets, spending another night alone since she had become engaged. The isolation wasn't as consuming to her that night, because in her mind she had the understanding of her new friend, and he was most warm company to keep.

* * *

Oswald was up until dawn before he set out for a visit with his mother. A night absent of sleep wasn't new for him, and he felt invigorated since his first day with Rosalie had gone so well. The feelings had kept him going well into the night, propelling him to pick up old habits of reading poetry and drawing on thick parchment paper. Some of his pale digits still carried the smudge stains of charcoal, and his eyes were red from the strain of focusing on fine details and the faded words in his old books. He still made sure he was presentable though; his suit wrinkle free and his tie straight and even. His mother always worried if he looked out of health, and he didn't want to put a shock in her dear heart.

It was a warmer day in Gotham, the autumn breeze warm as it blew through his thin hair. Leaves crunched under his shoes as he walked down the street, his umbrella with him even when there wasn't a cloud to be spotted in the sky. One never knew when the weather could change, and he always liked to be prepared. He turned onto his mother's familiar street, blood and other foul things left in the gutter from the crimes of the night. He could only spare the time to share breakfast with her before he had to return to Miss Mooney for work. Another day with Rosalie didn't seem all that strenuous though, not with that delightful ache settled in his gut.

He put on a pleasant smile and knocked at his mother's door with the end of his umbrella, waiting for her to come and answer. He recognized the sounds of her shuffling feet, still in her slippers to stave off the cold in her apartment. She paused at the door, never answering without checking who it was first, just like he had taught her to do.

"Ozzy, is that you?"

"Yes, I've come for a short visit." He replied to her muffled voice through the door before he heard the click of the deadbolt unlocking. His mother was upon him just as soon as she got passed the door; pulling him inside as she patted him down, making sure he was all in one piece. He shut the door behind him just as she leaned up to place a kiss on either cheek, seeming pleased with the smile that hadn't left his face since he had thought of Rosalie.

"Such a wonderful boy I have, surprising his mother like this," She gushed while taking his umbrella from him, leaning it up against the old coat rack. "Come sit down, I'll make you toast and tea."

His mother disappeared back into the kitchen while he took it upon himself to have a seat at the well-worn sofa. He realized it had been longer than he thought since his last visit home, looking around at all the lace and crochet that was collecting dust. It made him feel guilty, that he was a bad son for leaving his mother for so long without his company. He didn't let the melancholy show on his face as his mother returned with a tray of green tea and dried toast, a thin layer of margarine scraped on the tops. She set it before them on the coffee table before taking a seat beside him on the sofa.

"Oh you look so happy today. Is your work going well?"

As good as it could be. He had aspirations for the future, a future without taking orders from Miss Mooney. He wanted to move his mother into a better neighborhood as well. Sometimes he suspected she did not share his same love for Gotham, but he knew if she was living in the wealth that she deserved, that she would come to see its potential like he had. "Yes, I've been succeeding in all of my endeavors. My employers are very generous."

She clasped their hands together between them, beaming at him with pride as she believed every word he told her. "I'm glad you're being looked after. You're my special boy and I'm glad you're having a chance to show that to others."

He smiled bashfully in return. "Mother, I've met someone too." He said before he could think on whether or not it was a good idea to share the news of Rosalie or not. He felt his mother's grip slacken, and her mouth carved into a thin and unconvincing line. So maybe it was poor timing, but he was so pent up with emotions that he wanted the opportunity to talk about Rosalie, and there was nowhere else he could do that freely.

"You have?" She offered weakly. "I'm happy for you. What's her name?"

"She's . . . my Rosalie." It slipped out again, his bad case of projectile speaking growing worse. And okay, it couldn't be further from the truth; Rosalie wasn't his in any sense of the word. He would change that yet though, a number of ideas already presenting themselves for his consideration.

"Your Rosalie?" His mother seemed to choke on the words; tears of joy perhaps? He took a large bite of toast and a sip of tea to stop his mouth from saying anything else that would upset her. She was only being protective of his well-being after all. "Can I ask what she looks like?"

"I can show you actually," He reached into the inside of his jacket, pulling out a folded piece of paper that was thick at the corners. He had slaved over the drawing until it was perfect, a gift intended for Rosalie. "It probably doesn't do her justice as I had to draw it from memory. She truly is a lovely person and I would like you to meet her." He wasn't sure how to pull that one off either, but he wanted to ease his mother's sorrow any way he could.

"She is beautiful," His mother agreed as she held the picture at length with one hand, her other pressed above her heart as she studied over his artwork. "You always had such a talent for these kinds of things. You know, I kept all of your pictures of your birds?"

"You did?" He asked, caught between flattery and disappointment by the news. Those drawings were more private, a time in his life when he had nothing but himself and his mother to rely on. The children of Gotham had been so cruel to him, making him come to hate certain qualities that were permanent to him. So young Oswald had picked up a pencil and etched; the strokes bold and thick and the shadings soft to the borders of the pages. That young boy was forgotten, but not lost because of the evidence his mother still held onto in that time where he was only hers, and she was his. He belonged to Gotham now, and more parts of him were for Rosalie's taking as well.

"I keep them in an album. We don't have many photographs that I recall, but we have your artwork."

"Lovely," He complimented while setting his cold cup of tea down on its saucer. "I'm afraid I will have to end our visit here mother. I don't want to be late , it reflects poorly on my character."

"Of course Ozzy." His mother said, standing with him to brush off the leftover crumbs caught on his waistcoat, making sure he was presentable. He redid the button on his jacket, everything back in order as his mother smiled and gave him another tight peck on the cheek. "You are devilishly handsome; don't let them tell you otherwise."

"I know." He said in a way that lacked conviction. Not everything was taken on face value though, and he took comfort in that small but reassuring fact.

He bade his mother farewell, a tearful sob resounding through the door before he even got five steps away from his old home. He hoped his next visit would go better, to have something to show for so that all of his efforts didn't appear to be in vain. It spurred his thoughts forward into the future once again, and what he planned to do with the power he so craved and deserved after fighting to survive so long in the trenches of Gotham.

He wanted to have a mansion. Not some expensive high-rise that overlooked the city, but a Manor, much like the famous Waynes lived in. He would have hired staff to keep everything like new, so that he would always return from business to a clean home. And Rosalie would be there waiting for him, her hand resting on the oak stairwell, the light catching the diamond on her ring.

The spell he weaved in his mind was broken by the sound of a car horn blaring at him, and he shot a vicious look at the driver before he hastened his pace down the street, marching back towards Miss Mooney's club. His heart was still thundering to his own desires that reached to the great heights of avarice. There are those who would call him a fool, but after having so little for so long, he knew the pendulum had to swing in the other direction eventually, and his rewards would be obtainable.

"Common aim is stronger than blood." He muttered darkly to himself. He was a shadow to the streets, unnoticed in the river of black that really ran Gotham from the inside. Unsuspecting were so many towards him; they would never see who brought the hammer down onto their big heads.

He approached the sign of the neon fish flashing before his vision, illuminating the pavement below in florescent color as it welcomed him back inside to his familiar office. He was greeted with a noise from the hog, the extent of his presence going acknowledged before he slipped into the bar. Miss Mooney was sharing in Rosalie's company before it was even noon, and he felt a little greener towards the trollop who served as his boss. Rosalie was wearing her mask again; the false sense of cheer that had been painted on her face when she had made his acquaintance the day before. He didn't understand the look, but he knew he wanted it replaced from her face with one of her pretty smiles.

He tottered over to them, a receiving smile shaped on his lips that Miss Mooney spotted first before Rosalie turned in her seat. "A-allow me to apologize for my absence. I was delayed a-attending with a personal matter."

"He's always so polite," Miss Mooney swooned while speaking to Rosalie. "Why don't you have a seat and stay for a while. There's no rush to head out, and I like to keep an eye on my two kids."

He sensed the discord in the air, and he wasn't about to disobey a direct order from her. "That's a grand suggestion ma'am." He took to the unoccupied stool beside Rosalie, having to hop up from the ground to reach the height. Rosalie gave him a soft sideways smile that welcomed his presence, but she spoke no words and he was chilled without them. It was underhanded and dangerous, but he shifted closer to her so that their arms were touching on top of the bar, in plain view for Miss Mooney and the rest of Gotham to see. He gave an innocent look, bunching up his shoulders in a sheepish way.

"Frankie, get us something fun and exotic to drink," Miss Mooney demanded, a pernicious gleam in her eye as she looked at Oswald. "And move my next appointment back. I want to spend some quality time with my guest, get to know if my Penguin has been treating her alright."

Rosalie adjusted in her stool, her knee brushing up against his outer thigh beneath the bar top, and his blood instantly sizzled with the return of her accidental contact. He would have taken her hand in his if it would not have been too bold. His hand was stayed by another troubling factor, one that he had failed to see the last time, and it glared at him beautifully on her left ring finger. The diamond that embodied her engagement was large enough to cut through glass, but it did not symbolize love or the affection that should have been there. The gold was dead and the diamond was cold, a poor representation of one man's lordship over her. It was simply too big, and in Oswald's great plan for the future, it would be the first thing to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well here is Rosalie. I wanted to show that her power is taken away from her around her own peers, yet it seems that Oswald can be her center to draw strength and voice from. I had fun writing for Oswald and his mother's visit too, and I can't imagine she wouldn't be too pleased with another woman entering his life and taking her place, but clearly Ozzy is feeling that way for a certain Italian girl. Day two will continue with Miss Mooney speaking with them at the start. I do have a Halloween themed chapter planned for day three though, so hopefully I can get that out before the holiday passes.
> 
> "Common aim is stronger than blood." Is a quote by G. I. Gurdjieff.


	4. Day 2: An Agenda

Rosalie thought she might be sick. Her stomach was an ocean of roiling waves as she was caught between Fish Mooney's perusing stare and Oswald's shy but intrepid one. They seemed to be having a battle for control over her attention, and while it would have been the easy choice for her to side with Oswald, she would have been putting him danger at the same time. Playing it safe, she refrained from glancing in either of their directions, keeping her eyes ahead while Frankie continued to pour Fish another drink.

"So what is on your agenda for today? I'm not keeping you two from anything pressing, am I?" Mooney inquired, swinging one leg over the other in a deadly elegant manner as she held onto her glass of liqueur.

"No ma'am, I agree to whatever Ms. Scangarelo wishes to do." Oswald said, not missing a beat as he spoke professionally of her.

"Sweet little creature," Mooney sounded as she ran a long nail over the rim of her glass in a carnivorous manner. "Is he good company for you Ro, because I can have him replaced with someone more accommodating?"

"No, the situation suits me fine, and Oswald is very accommodating." Rosalie kept her timbre even, but she would argue heatedly if she had to, to get her way. She wasn't about to lose her only friend, and she would advocate for him, just as she knew he would do for her in return.

"I bet he is," Miss Mooney remarked cryptically, looking over Rosalie's shoulder to the silent Oswald. His expression was helpless, clashing badly with the precariousness of his eyes. "He does like to please a lady, any way he can."

Rosalie didn't quite catch her meaning, but she knew it couldn't mean anything good with the way Oswald moved in his seat. "That's good to know I suppose."

Mooney smirked slightly in return before her eyes flashed darkly with the changing of her thoughts. "How is your Dominic fairing, I haven't heard from him in a while?"

Rosalie wouldn't say he was ' _her_ ' Dominic, any more than she would agree to being his. The desired result was had though, as she felt the air grow cold and stale around Oswald as he tried to make it appear like he wasn't listening, and failing badly. Her fiancé had not been a topic brought to the table yet, but it was happening now with her powerless to prevent it. "My Uncle keeps him busy, so he comes and goes at all hours."

"From what I hear, that has always been Dominic," Rosalie wasn't sure if that was an appraisal or not, and decoding Mooney's look was growing increasingly difficult. "So handsome too, you're a lucky girl, why I'm almost envious of you."

"You're too kind." Rosalie replied tightly.

Watching Mooney's mouth bleed into a smile was a horrifying sight, especially with her crimson lipstick. She appeared to be considering a thought before she was interrupted by the entrance of Butch and another one of her men. "You have a call Miss Mooney," Butch informed her while tossing a lecherous look at Rosalie as he spoke. "Will you take it in your office?"

"Oh always on the clock," She said dramatically while setting her glass down on the polished surface of the bar. She stood imposing in her stilettos, giving them one last glance with her parting words, "Keep out of trouble, and don't do anything particularly wicked . . . like I would do."

Rosalie winced from her wink just as Mooney's back was turned, swaying herself away into her office with her men behind her. The nightclub of hers felt like a sad and lonely place in the middle of the day, sat right in the middle of Gotham's entertainment district where sad and tormented creatures flocked to. Rosalie did not want to be there anymore, and she turned to speak with Oswald, finding her friend looking down at the surface of the bar as if he could see his own reflection. If he leaned forward any closer, his nose would be touching the glossy surface, leaving fog from his breath if he breathed out.

"Oswald?" She asked carefully, afraid to touch him in his state of deep focus. His eyes snapped up quickly, startling her instead. They looked so frigid and distant, ringed in black like shadows, and he was all together morose. "Can we go somewhere else maybe, just for a while?"

Her hesitant tone broke him of his musings, and he leapt down from his stool with false enthusiasm, "Anything you want."

He offered his arm to her without her having to make a reach for him first, but she felt that all of his actions were misplaced and forced, like whatever cheer he had brought with him was now gone. Mooney was very much a patronizing mother. She kept a short leash on him, and he seemed to have equal parts of respect for her as much as he detested her. Rosalie didn't understand any of it.

"Where would you like to go today Rosalie?" He asked, stepping out of Mooney's club where her car and driver already awaited their presence.

"The park?" It was a dewy autumn day, the last days of the leaves before bitter winter would be upon them. They had some luck with the lack of rain as well, and she wouldn't mind a day outdoors with Oswald. He could use the color, and the warmth.

They stepped into the car without a word, him letting her go first. It was a small comfort to see that he at least had not forgotten the chivalry he still practiced, but his stoic silence unnerved her, and as the car started into traffic in the direction of the park, she sat forward in her seat until she had his attention.

"Can you stop that now?"

"Stop what?" He asked somewhat defensively. He watched her wearily as she left her seat to come along beside him. There was nothing to shield his eyes from hers today, and she knew something was bothering him the moment he casted his down to his lap.

"You've shut down on me, and I was looking forward to spending the day with you," She waited patiently for some kind of reaction, but his shoulders only lifted a little bit, barely attempting to lift his wings for her. "I wanted to call you last night and talk, but I didn't have a way of getting in contact with you." She confessed.

"You thought about me?" She wasn't prepared for the vast change in his mood, leaping in bounds from melancholic to a man possessed with some form of passion. There was something there on his face that lit a spark of weariness in her. But Oswald wasn't dangerous; not to her. That's what her thoughts told her anyway, and she was inclined to believe them, so desperate as she was to have a friend.

"Of course I did. We might not know each other all that well, but our conversations yesterday were more freeing then I can remember having before." She was a lonely woman, but she didn't need to admit that aloud.

"No, we know each other quite well," He refuted, fair of voice but with something far more deadly striking from his tongue. He wasn't nervous anymore because his voice wasn't shaking, a habit she was quick to pick up on when something seemed threatening to him. "And I would be honored to keep you company when sleep fails you at night."

He blushed after speaking, a soft pink lighting up from his tight collar to his cheeks. She laughed lightly at his reaction before searching around in her purse for a pen and paper. "Here, my number so you can call me."

He took the paper gingerly from her hand, brushing against her knuckles accidently, or so Rosalie interpreted it to be. He seemed far too innocent for anything else, studying over the paper with virgin eyes. The paper was tucked away into the inside of the left breast pocket of his jacket, and he tapped at it with a finger while grinning. "I'll wear it close."

It seemed that they had arrived at the park before she had even returned to her seat in the car. Oswald held the door for her, helping her step out from the low vehicle into the dim sun of the park, sheltered in by trees and bushes. The walkways were cracked and covered with leaves, and the old wooden benches marked places in the park where visitors could stop and rest from more than just a walk. All varieties stopped here, it was the one place in Gotham where a person could think to their content without other eyes prying from all corners. It felt right to come here with Oswald, and she didn't want their afternoon disturbed with the presence of her driver.

"You can stay with the car Phillip; I'll be fine here with Oswald."

"If you say so Ms." Phillip replied, but not before tossing a sour look at her friend. Oswald's expression went blank, in control of the glare he would have likely tossed if she wasn't standing between the two men. It made her worry for his safety; if he was too bold with the wrong person, he could come to serious harm.

"Don't let him bother you; Phillip is just doing his job. He's one of the few people who don't believe that my Uncle has ' _gotten old_ '."

"It didn't bother me," He retorted curtly, clearly caught in a lie. He took a calming breath, huffing like a injured animal licking his wounds before he continued. "You have heard the rumors about your Uncle?"

"I am his niece," _Unfortunately_ , "It's the reason I'm with you right now. Well actually I'm supposed to be under Mooney's care, but that extends to you. Some of the other families might make a move against my Uncle—Maroni the likely candidate—and this is just a precaution."

"I thought families were left unharmed in a war?" Oswald asked as they strolled slowly through the park, passed the rusting fountain in the heart of the wooded area. The water trickled at an uneven rate from the spout, blocked by lime scale and calcium buildup, more evidence of the dying city.

"They usually are, but mistakes have happened and rules are always broken. My Uncle simply doesn't want me caught in the cross hairs." She shrugged while taking a seat at one of the benches, Oswald following down beside her. She kicked her legs up before her, looking at the midnight blue ballet slippers on her feet that matched her baby doll dress. Her hair was pinned up again, away from her face except for a few tendrils that blew against her cheek from the breeze, like soft kisses. The sensation gave her a shiver.

"If he has put forth such an effort, it means he cares." Oswald explained, frowning at her as he caught a glimpse at her wry smile.

"If he really cared, he would have let me leave Gotham like I requested."

She jolted in surprise as Oswald's grip fastened around her wrist, striking and clutching down like a snack on a mouse. "You want to leave Gotham?" He asked in a fit, looking to be having a complete panic as a mad look stared back at her.

"Why stay?" She asked, trying not to pull back in alarm from his iron hold that his lithe hand had on her.

"This is your home," He remarked, his thumb starting a little trace of back and forth on the inside of her wrist, putting a spell on her. "You have to be here."

"But there's nothing for me here."

"Your family . . . or friends?" She shook her head at his responses, all made frantically as he grasped at straws. "What about your fiancé?"

"I don't love him." It was a terribly thing to say, however honest she meant it.

"Because he has shared a bed with Miss Mooney?" He delivered candidly.

In the most peculiar way the words stun, and it had nothing to do with the meaning backing them. Perhaps her pride was damaged, even when she had already suspected the same thing from speaking with Mooney. It was cutting, the hurt and betrayal so fresh and already so soon; too soon. Oswald's hand on her faltered, and his thin lips starting flapping opened and closed in a bizarrely comical way, one that she was too angry to be amused by. Just as soon as her hand was free she assailed him with a smack across his cheek. No one turned to notice only because denizens of Gotham were accustomed to such behaviors in public. She stood up calmly, marching away with what little amount of pride there was to be salvaged. She didn't look back, not once, even as she ached more while walking away from her new friend. Was she so naïve to put so much stock into a relationship so young? Gotham was a sea of untrusting faces, and she had hoped her salvation had come in Oswald's shades of black and white. Perhaps she had settled too soon.

"Wait Rosalie," His voice was close already, and she was halted abruptly as he stepped in front of her with a far gentler hand on her arm. He was panting from the short run, looking a mess as his inky hair stuck to his forehead like spider legs. "I apologize for my rude behavior towards you, please stay."

"You ruined a perfectly good afternoon Oswald," She returned waspishly while taking a step back from him. The look of dejection on his face caused her to feel guilty, but that may have been what he wanted. "I didn't have to be told that."

"It was not meant to be a slight to hurt you." He rubbed at the raw stinging on his cheek, white flesh now aflame in bright red from her hand.

"I know that, but your intentions were still a self-serving agenda," She accused. "You've obviously met Dominic in the past, and you wanted to turn me against him when I've never made the claim to be on his side."

Oswald stood with his arms tight to his side, nodding stiffly while admitting to nothing. "Please forgive me."

She sighed, running her hands up the sides of her arms to keep warm from the dull chill that now enveloped her. "I just want to go back."

She started in the direction of the car again, Oswald at her side as her quiet shadow. She felt horrible for laying a hand on him now, her anger deflating into the usual despair that she was familiar with. Her thoughts held her as she receded into them, missing the people in the park and the leaves that surrounded her. Phillip was still standing guard outside of the car as she neared, and he stood straighter as he took notice of her return.

"Where's Cobblepot?" He inquired.

"What—?" She inclined her head to the left, finding Oswald was no longer beside her like she thought, and she had missed when his introverted presence had left her. "We're waiting."

Phillip sighed but made no debate. "Do you want me to go and find him?"

She debated for half a second before deciding she wanted Phillip to do just that, only to spot Oswald's figure approaching with . . . flowers? Now granted, they were nasty things with thorns, shriveling brown at the edges as he held them in an uneven bouquet. She held a breath as he presented them to her, awaiting her reaction with anticipation. "I know they are not beautiful, but I was without the convenience of a flower shop, and this was the best I could do under the circumstances. They are a token of my apology, if you'll accept?"

It wasn't until she heard a stifled chuckle that she realized her driver was still standing outside with them. She shot him a look over her shoulder, demanding him to be quiet before she turned back to Oswald with his pathetically charming gift. His crooked smile and uneven glossy stare were tantalizing, like a flawed oil painting dressed in an expensive frame. She allowed him to hand her the present, smiling without restraint.

"Is this like you, completely upset me, only to make it up with a sweet gesture?"

"I stumble quite often," He said with a high laugh. "They were the only flowers not dying from the late season. They are dreadful looking, I had to pick them by hand."

She glanced down, realizing his hands were shredded up to his wrists from the thorns, thin trails of blood lining the grooves in his skin. "Oswald your hands!"

He noticed the blood after she did, unalarmed as he spoke. "They don't hurt, though I admit they don't look very good."

She sat the bouquet down on the roof of the car before grabbing some tissues from her purse. He seemed hesitant as she took his hands into hers, tending to them carefully as best she could. "You should clean them as soon as possible, you don't want an infection."

"Okay." He breathed.

The tissues had collected the blood, but the wounds were glaring, and they must have been hurting him. Not letting go, she brought each one to her lips, placing a kiss on the backs of his palms tenderly. "Don't do that again," She said sternly before leaning up against him, hands still clasped together as he began to quake with tremors. Without her high heels, he was a good deal taller than her, dwarfing her in his arms. "And I'm sorry for striking you."

"It was not the first time for me, I assure you."

He stopped speaking as she kissed his cheek that had been struck; he may have stopped breathing for a moment too if she was any judge. She rested happily with her lips grazing his cheek, ifs flesh cool like a piece of ice. When she pulled away, his hands squeezed hers, not entirely sure what to do with himself it appeared. Rosalie didn't know his thoughts, but he was regretting not turning his head at the last moment, then their mouths could have touched in a delirious kiss. It was the unmentioned thought that hung between all through the drive back, and it was just another thing added to his self-serving agenda for the future.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was fun! More from Rosalie because next one is all Oswald. It will be my Halloween themed chapter, so lots of fun. Things will be turning from sweet to dark real soon. What do you think Rosalie's thoughts will be if/when she finds out about Oswald's visit to the prostitute. I look forward to your thoughts:)


	5. Day 3: Black Licorice

Oswald looked down at the pocket watch attached to his waistcoat, the time ticking by slowly as he kept checking it every few minutes. It was Halloween night, and he was at Miss Mooney's club for the celebration. Orange and black streamers were hung from the ceiling and taped to the front of the bar, with each table aglow with black wax candles. The costumes were certainly not the most elaborate he had seen, most donning a mask while still in formal club garb. The event was exclusive, which meant everyone knew Miss Mooney or something in direct contact with her, and Oswald could recognize almost every single one of them by just a glance of their eyes. Many frequented the nightclub often, and it was no surprise they were back again on the macabre evening.

He sighed with his eyes to the door before once again checking for the time. He was waiting for Rosalie's arrival. He knew she was coming tonight because earlier in the day she had laughed at his distaste for the sweet treats of the holiday. She had caught him staring as she had been chewing on a jelly candy, but what she had not known was it had been her lips he had been watching and not the sugary delight. One too many cavities as a child had taught him to stay away from such temptations, though that wasn't to say he strayed from all things sweet. Rosalie was a sweet thing, and he was very much tempted by her.

"You look bored Oswald," He jumped with a fright, failing to hear Miss Mooney advance through the haunting music playing over the audio system. Miss Mooney was dressed fabulously in in a leopard printed gown, fitting across her skin like a glove, her eyes lined with coal and her claws painted in onyx lacquer. Her ability to impress with her wardrobe was fascinating to him. Mostly he considered she looked like a harlot more than half of the time, but it impressed a great deal of others. "What's got you so bewitched at the door; searching for your escape?"

"N-no ma'am," He answered respectfully. "Just watching who comes in and out of the place. You can never be too careful."

"Oh Oswald you are so stiff," She laughed with a strong hand on his arm. "It's a party, try to relax and have fun."

"Of course Miss Mooney." She reached over to a server, grabbing two shots off a tray and passing one off to him as he fumbled with it in his grasp. "Here, I'll help you get started."

She smiled wide like a reptile before throwing the liquid back down her throat, savouring its taste with closed eyes. He tried following in her example, swallowing the shot in one large gulp while fighting a grimace. Oswald wasn't much of a drinker, but he would do anything to satisfy his proprietor.

"What is it?" He asked, licking his lips of the aftertaste of black licorice.

"Ouzo. It makes the spirit," She handed him her glass which he took carefully to hand off to the passing server. "Don't drink too much; I like you to have a clear head. You're my best eye here."

He had never consumed enough alcohol to be inebriated before, not after getting into a bottle of wine from his mother's cabinet when he was still a boy. He could still feel the stinging in his hands from the wooden spoon his mother had wielded. "I will remain vigilant."

Miss Mooney chuckled at him before her eyes flitted to the door. "Oh isn't she darling."

He was brought immense pleasure at the sight of Rosalie's arrival, only to immediately be brought back down when he noticed Dominic's hand guiding her by the waist. Those thick, heavy hands should not have been touching her; he wanted to save her of the humiliation of that miscreant's presence. When she had first told him of her engagement, it had come without a name to her intended. It was only when Miss Mooney had brought up the subject yesterday that he had felt cheated by fate. One of his tormentors was promised to the object of his would-be affections, and he had made the error of informing her about her fiancé's illicit activities with his boss. The hurt on her face was a sight he never wanted to see again.

"She is a vision." He agreed faintly, forgetting what it was Miss Mooney had spoken in the first place.

Her brows rose in surprise before furrowing considerably, the rest of her features pinching into a curious frown. "Oswald, come with me for a moment. I'd like a talk with you."

He turned away from the sight of Rosalie and Dominic, the sight of him helping her remove her coat filling him with bouts of jealousy and a taste for murder. His bloody thoughts were cooled by Miss Mooney's strict expression, and he schooled himself into a more appropriate character; his narrow body caving in with fear, and cheeks paling to a bone white hue that gave her the control. With one last longing look to Rosalie, he followed through the crowds of people to Miss Mooney's office, weaving between the droves until they stopped at the thick oak door.

"You can wait out here Gilzean, I'll only be a moment." She instructed to her ruffian. 

Oswald shifted passed the thicker gentleman before he fell into the threshold of Miss Mooney's office. The door clicked behind him, the sound sharp and piercing to his impending lecture. He took a seat before her desk, breathing in hoarsely as he had difficulty meeting her gaze.

"Have I done something to displease you ma'am?"

"You're so clever Oswald, you know I rely on you for that," She started while leaning back in her high back chair that swiveled with every movement she made. "Tell me, why do you think I am displeased with your service?"

"This reminds me of the past, when I would be punished by my mother." He replied, eyes darting around to every small detail in the room before returning to Miss Mooney's hands that were spread wide on the surface of her desk.

"But I'm not your mother, though I have a fondness for you that is like the bond of mother to son, and I feel I have to look out for your well-being before you do something reckless," Her seat groaned as she sat forward, and Oswald felt his knees start to bounce in place, out of sight from her with the escritoire between them. It was a good thing; he didn't want her to witness his anxiousness. "I'll admit, I am surprised I have to have this conversation with you. A mother finding out for the first time that her boy is no longer hers cuts deeply. I took you for a shy virgin, even after your appointment with the street girl."

He balked at her with an unattractive look of surprise. "H-how did y-you—?"

"—Find out about that? It wasn't difficult with having eyes everywhere in the city," She clucked her tongue. In disapproval maybe? He could not say for certain. What he did know was he had been followed that day as a test to see if he would take care of the trouble with Ralphie, and instead she had stumbled across his furtive actions, a lucrative act he had paid for with all the money he had made at the time and had regretted doing since walking out of the hotel room. It was a foolish mistake he had not accounted for, and it was spelling all sorts of trouble now. "But never mind that. Your sordid affair is safe with me, and so is your interest in Ms. Scangarelo."

He swallowed thickly, heart turning to lead with Rosalie being brought to the forefront of their conversation. "I am not certain I understand Miss Mooney."

"Enough Oswald!" She snapped curtly. "This stops tonight; your little interest in that girl is death for me, for you, and for everyone else if Don Falcone should hear a whisper of your intentions with his niece."

Of course she knew. He had not been careful enough to hide it, not even around Rosalie, and she was the only likely one not to have even the slightest suspicion. Was it perhaps because she didn't see him that way? No. . .he refused to believe that. She had danced with him in the café, had held his hand in his company, and she had kissed his cheek in the park. The moment was seared in his mind, and it was then he had known the pain of Eros' arrow. Rosalie was attracted to him, at least a little bit, even if she was unaware.

"What intentions ma'am?" He asked in feigned idiocy. Miss Mooney was having none of it, and she smirked cruelly at him like a wide mouthed viper.

"Oswald honey, you want to smell and touch her hair. Feel her heat and the soft of her skin. Taste her sweetness until it rots away the crooked teeth from your mouth," Miss Mooney was looking at him, unimpressed on her throne. He tried to keep still in his seat, but her look caused him to feel crucified with damnation, fuelling her hellfire. "Now let me tell you something my little Penguin; that will never happen, not for you."

His look fell, but he fought to keep from looking entirely ruined. Miss Mooney was waiting for his despair with hunger, and seemed displeased when she did not receive it from him. "Is there anything else you require?"

"No, get out," She ordered quietly. He sat for a moment longer before she turned her head up to him with rage. "GET OUT!"

He stood from his seat and spun on his heel, walking away from her faster than he could remember doing. It was only the first time he had stepped out of line with her, and he knew correcting the mistake would be easy so his concern was mild. His anger was another matter. The insinuation that Rosalie could never want him because of his looks was taken with great insult, as was the mentioning of his ill-accepted moniker. It was worse whenever it fell from Miss Mooney's lips, for she would say it with such sweet care, a condescending way of asserting her twisted dominance that had him under thumb.

He strode back out into the club, the heat and moisture in the air salty from perspiration of bodies crushed together in lewd entanglements. For the moment he wanted to ignore all of the advice Miss Mooney had given him, and he swiped another shot of Ouzo from one of the servers. Drinking it quickly in one deep swallow, he felt he was more immune to the strong taste and heady affects it had. He didn't care about bad judgment at the moment, far too transfixed on finding Rosalie first.

She was easy to find, so drawn as he was to whatever move she made. Her back was to him, the purple of her dress matching deliciously with her olive skin, especially the exposed patch of the backless gown. Her hair appeared darker and shorter, and it didn't take him long to know it was a wig covering her natural caramel locks. All for the purpose of her costume he suspected, though he wasn't sure who she was posing to be. That gave him a reason to approach her, and so he did.

Her eyes sought his out as he took the empty seat beside her, her body turning in more towards his as the room was at their backs from the bar. She smiled without restraint and there was a starry look in her eyes. "Hello Oswald."

"Hello," He said lightly, simpering with the same unbridled enthusiasm. "You look lovely Rosalie, though I am having trouble discerning the nature of your costume."

She ran her hands down the front of her dress, the silver patterns looking like clusters of stars as they caught the light over the bust of the gown and down to her hips. The hem ended at mid-thigh, and he felt starved from arousal as she crossed her legs. She was more coquettish to him than usual, and the provocative thoughts that swirled in his head were not all of his own.

"I'm supposed to be Mona Lisa Vito from the courtroom scene in My Cousin Vinny. The dress is alright, but the wig itches badly," She made a disgruntled face while fussing with the dark hair on her head. "If you haven't watched that film, you should."

Oswald had not, but he would only watch if he was in her company. "Maybe I will."

"And who are you disguised as?" She stopped to assess him, her stare causing him to break out into a bad blush in the dark light of the club.

"Nathaniel Hawthorne. I love his work."

"Yes, I see it now," She remarked while stepping off of her stool to situation herself between his parted legs, taking a hold on his bowtie while he grew flushed with her proximity. "Very dashing."

Her hands either needed to stop what they were doing or continue to graze him, and he honestly had no will to make her step back. "T-thank you."

"Do you want to go for a walk with me?" She asked suddenly, eyes searching out his as she leaned forward more until he could taste her scent.

"What about Dom—?" His question was cut off as she put a hand over his mouth, silencing him with a stern look.

"He doesn't want to spend time here with me," She waved a hand over in the direction of her fiancé engaged in conversation—and more—with a red haired woman whose dress was entirely too small for her generous figure. "And I don't want to waste my time with him. I want to spend it with you."

"A-alright." His previous conversation and warning from Miss Mooney was already forgotten because of the pleading tone in Rosalie's voice.

She led him by the hand to the door, stopping only for a moment to put on her coat (which he helped her into with pride) before they stepped out into Gotham's night. He wasn't sure if anyone had spotted them leaving, and he found himself uncaring if they had. Halloween was a busy night in Gotham, children and criminals alike walking up and down the streets with masks, and they were just two more bodies added to it.

"How are your hands doing?" Rosalie asked gently, reaching between them to clasp his hand in hers.

"They will heal. They are not the first wounds I have had to tend to." He answered while his palm started to turn cool with sweat.

"That doesn't happen to you often does it?" Her voice was colored with concern, and all for him. He felt greedy for more.

"I have been taking care of myself for a long time now."

She halted their progress by spinning in front of him, hands still intertwined as she watched him with a knowing look. "That doesn't answer my question Oswald."

He looked down at his feet for a moment, fighting with a hopeful smile that wanted to come to his lips. They were closer together than he realized, almost coming cheek to cheek as he raised his head up again, keeping her in his cold embrace. "Are you worried about me?"

"Yes." She didn't hesitate with her reply.

"You do not need to be." Her lips were so close, but if he leaned forward now, he had no way of knowing what her reaction would be. She could flinch or pull back in disgust. Perhaps he wouldn't taste right, or maybe he was too slippery for her warm mouth. But he deserved her, more deserving than her brute of a fiancé. To rescue her from him, he would have to steal her for himself.

"I'm your friend Oswald, my mind is already made up about that." Her words should have felt better than they did, but being on the receiving end of friendship, for the first time in his life, wasn't enough. He didn't want a friend; he just wanted her to be his.

"Yes, of course." He said as evenly as he could, breaking his hand from hers while taking a step back. The small amount of alcohol he had consumed must have already addled his mind, and he had misread her signs for something more. A fool he was, Miss Mooney had been right. "Where would you like to go?"

"Oswald," She tried to reach for his hand, only for him to hide them both in his pockets. A scowl found her face, and she crossed her arms in irritation at him. "I'm not allowed to be concerned for you?"

"No." Not when it came with her pity.

"Why are you being like this?"

Oh no. The hurt look was growing on her face again. He had to be strong, not willing to fall for that trick a second time. "I am behaving accordingly to my job description. Perhaps you are just often spoiled into getting your way."

His blood froze at the black look in her eyes, and a new wave of guilt flooded him as she turned on her heel and began walking away from him in the other direction. He stood numbly in the slow moving wind as it ruffled his short hair, Rosalie already disappearing around the street corner before he got his feet to follow. His mind acknowledged that she needed to be kept safe, and his feelings were causing him to fail poorly at his job.

"Wait, Rosy," His legs shuffled and pumped in an awkward sprint after her, shoes clapping against the pavement in dull thuds. He reached the sharp corner of the building, making it around the bend before his person was painfully halted by a strong grasp. A street thug had him by the arms, his other masked accomplice holding Rosalie at gunpoint. He figured their kind for muggers, and not soldiers from another family. Their cloth was too poor to be mafia. It was the silver lining in the otherwise disastrous situation.

"All of your money bitch, now!" The mugger yelled.

Oswald's eyes met Rosalie's, her fear matching his along with something else, and he realized he had made a grave mistake. It was horrible timing, and the cost could be detrimental because of his lack of vision. He had to protect her now, save them both from the muggers, and for that he would need a miracle. First he mouthed a silent apology to Rosalie, needing her forgiveness more than oxygen, and her small head nod got his heart working again.

Love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright a bit of a cliff hanger until part two. We'll get to see what Rosalie thinks next chapter as these two continue the dance of emotions. Oswald has a lower opinion of self, so that is definitely a roadblock, but I think she can help him overcome that yet. Miss Mooney's warning probably didn't help, she's a very influential person in his life at the moment, but have faith that Rosy can make him see. Now to escape some muggers. The last sentence is a quote by William Shakespeare ;)


	6. Day 3: Black Lingerie

Rosalie tried not to let the fear show on her face, but it was hard to manage with a gun pointed between her eyes and a mugger yelling at her with coffee breath. The other crook had Oswald held by the collar of his long coat, and he looked so much smaller and meeker by comparison. Not that she was completely convinced that the fear in his eyes was all legitimate, for she knew the darker and more nefarious signs to look for underneath. Still she wanted to think of something fast to change the status quo in their favor, and with a gun in her sights, it was best to start talking.

"You can have all of my money, so long as you let him go. We both have to walk away unharmed." She said steadily, bringing her hands slowly down to her sides.

The mugger tightened his hold on the gun, looking back at his partner who had Oswald. "You hand over the money first. Any funny business and I'll smash the little weasel's teeth on the curb, and keep any gold fillings I find."

She hated the idle threats of the lower class criminals of Gotham. So desperate for such a small prize. The city was riddled with innumerable amounts of them because of the bold line that divided the wealthy from the poor. Rosalie felt uncomfortable by her family's position, though most of the Falcone fortune was filthy blood money and it made her no better than the thug looking across from her now.

"Alright," She reached into her clutch purse, hand feeling for her wallet (which costed more than the money she was carrying) before she extended her hand forward. "Let him go please."

The thief snatched the wallet from her hand while craning his neck towards his partner. "Search the runt too."

Rosalie made to step forward, only to have the gun displayed in her face again. She was momentarily distracted by the threatening weapon until there was a horrible scream let out into the night air. It was a nail biting sound, like a crow shrieking, and she was almost afraid to know what had caused it. The mugger was stunned too, his arms dropping as he looked back to his partner and Oswald. The other thief was lying in the gutter, clutching at the back of his thigh with both hands where the hilt of a switchblade was protruding. It seemed Oswald had carried a concealed weapon while he was with her, something that she had wondered as it had gone unaddressed until now.

"You little bastard!" The wider mugger turned with his gun in hand, and Oswald, who was now unarmed, was his target. Rosalie felt her legs charging before she could ponder her decision, and she leapt at the assailant, knocking the gun from his hand. She wasn't strong enough to completely send him to his feet, but he did stumble on his tree stump legs while grappling at the thin air to stay balanced. She went for the gun before he could react, scooping it up between her two hands before cocking it at his chest.

"Get down on the ground." She ordered.

The mugger turned his face up to her, laughing with a sneer. "Right, like you know how to fire that canon."

She let off a shot to show him her resolve, right at his left foot. He screamed as badly as his friend had, and his blood dribbled down his pant leg, darkening the concrete. "Crawl and join your friend there."

He whimpered pathetically, dragging his leg while muttering all matter of curses from his tongue, poisonous words meant for her. When he got to to the gutter on the side of the road, Oswald approached him while glaring at the other crook who had roughed him up. "Return the lady's wallet."

"Fuck off runt, I don't see a lady here, all I see is a whore and a penguin."

Another shout was released from the mugger as Oswald applied pressure on the man's wound with his foot. He breathed heavily with adrenaline, and was smiling with glee as he looked down on the injured man. The sight was both terrifying and arousing before she was quickly brought back to her senses. Two police cars were driving down the lane towards them with their sirens blaring, blue and red lights flashing. Another civilian must have heard the shot fired and had done their civic duty to inform authorities. She dropped the gun and ran forward at Oswald, wrapping her arm around his waist while pulling him back from the mugger.

"Oswald stop," She said in a calming tone, waiting until she felt the tension leave his body before loosening her hold. "They'll need proof that we were actually robbed."

Coming back to his mind, he nodded before leaning towards the other mugger and wrapping his hand around the hilt of the switchblade. "This will bleed a lot." He said just as be withdrew the blade from the thief's rump. He screamed again.

Oswald managed to flick some of the blood off of the blade before he hid it away in his pocket. The police cruisers stopped just a foot away, the sirens halting as two cops stepped out from the first car.

"Excuse me, what seems to be the problem here? We got a call that a gunshot was fired."

The cops approached them, uniforms dark blue that looked black in the night. Rosalie could sense Oswald's uneasiness around them, and she placed a hand on his wrist to hold him back while she took a step forward.

"Yes, these two men were trying to rob us until I was able to apprehend his gun. They threatened us and I fired in self-defense." She explained.

"That little prick stabbed me!" The shorter mugger cried, still clutching at his leg while his face contorted in pain.

"Sir, are you carrying a concealed weapon?" Oswald's eyes widened as one of the cops addressed him while the other was requesting an ambulance for the two injured muggers.

"Don't answer that." Rosalie said to Oswald as she shot a look at the cop.

"You understand that we'll have to take you in for your statements?" The officer told them, not losing the headstrong attitude.

"That won't be a problem," Rosalie said agreeably, paying no heed to the bemused look from Oswald. "Ready when you are officer."

"Rosalie?" Oswald whispered quietly while trying to reach for her hand that she pulled away without noticing the dejected look on his face.

"Just keep quiet and let me handle this," She answered back over her shoulder with a pleading tone. "Trust me."

He said nothing more as they were ushered into one of the police cruisers, but she did feel his hand creep towards her's in the back of the car. She received a small squeeze on her fingers as her hand laid limp between them, waiting a while before she returned the gesture with one of her own. Through the passing under streetlights as they drove in the city, Oswald smiled.

* * *

Harvey Bullock was a good friend. It was a pity that after such a length of time of not talking, that she needed to ask a favor of him. Of course he was more than agreeable to help her—and by extension Oswald—out of any mess that the mugging could have created for them. The police headquarters wasn't exactly a place she wanted to spend an extended amount of time in, especially on Halloween night, and she was glad that Harvey had worked quickly on booking them through despite it being outside of his job description. All manner of thugs and costumed criminals were locked in the holding cells, screaming obscenely and shrieking with laughter, both of which caused her to flinch more than a few times.

"That should about do it," Harvey said as he finished filling out papers on his desk, a fedora tilted forward on his head until it was damn near impossible to see his eyes as he worked. "You weren't trying to go door to door for candy were you?"

She gave him a dry look in response to his deep chuckling. "Funny."

"What are you supposed to be anyway?" He asked, pausing with a pen in hand while he appraised her outfit.

"I'm an Italian whore, can't you tell?"

"No chance of anyone believing that," He looked over her shoulder and across the room to where Oswald had been talking with another officer. "And what about Nathanial Hawthorne over there?"

"I'm surprised you even know who that is," She japed while Harvey tossed her a feigned look of hurt. "What about him?"

"He's a runt. I hope to hell that isn't who Fish entrusted to protect you."

"He's been working for her for a little while now, and he's done a perfectly good job so far."

"Yeah, I can tell," Harvey said sarcastically as he waved the papers around in the air before he went on speaking. "I haven't seen him around before."

"Maybe it's because you haven't been around for a while. That's surprising actually."

Bullock flushed a brilliant shade of red at her implied comment. "Hey, come on now; I have a life outside of there, and I know other women besides her."

Something he had in common with Dominic, only Harvey was a friend and not the man she was engaged to be married. "Yeah well, she knows other men besides you."

"Gotham's a big tank, and Fish is one of the largest players; I'm not exactly expecting a promise ring."

That seemed to signify the end of that conversation, and Rosalie was almost glad about that, sensing things could have turned awkward if they had kept at it. "What will happen to the two muggers?"

"After they are stitched up from Gotham General, they'll be sent here and charged. After that, they'll be back on the streets. We don't have the room just to hold two muggers when their kind is a dime a dozen in Gotham," Harvey shook his head as he contemplated over something. "I wonder if jail is looking to be the better option for them. Once your uncle hears about this…"

He let his sentence go unfinished, but she could fill the rest in for herself. "Yeah, I know."

"Poor bastards didn't know who they were robbing," He laughed rudely at the expense of others, something she had come to know of him. Working in the Gotham police department seemed like such a hopeless job, and maybe that was because ever other cop was like Harvey. Rosalie wouldn't mind seeing a change around there; one day maybe. "You and the penguin are clear to go."

"Don't call him that." She snapped, startling herself as much as Bullock.

"Not planning on canoodling with the new bodyguard are you Ro?" Harvey teased as his mouth flourished into a big goofy grin.

"No, we're friends." She said defensively, feeling the heat creep into her face as she stood up from the stiff chair by his desk. "Can I go now?"

"Sure, but stop at a drugstore first if you're planning a night of ' _trick-or-treating'._ Orange and black condoms are very popular around this time of year."

She shot him a deadly look to stop his laughing as Oswald finally approached them at Bullock's desk. He seemed to sense that something was just discussed, but unaware that he had been the main topic. "Is everything finished Detective Bullock?" Oswald asked as he read Harvey's name on his desk.

"Sure thing," Harvey replied as he filed the papers away for later review. He looked at them both critically for a moment before smiling in his characteristically unserious way. "Get her home safe squeaky, and no detours."

"Of course sir," Oswald offered his arm out for Rosalie to take, and she gladly accepted it as they prepared to leave the police headquarters. "Where do you want to go Rosalie?" He asked quietly, as if afraid Harvey would overhear.

"Just take me home. You could stay over and we could watch My Cousin Vinny if you want?"

"Maybe it would be alright . . . for a while." He answered hesitantly, and she wondered if he assumed she was still upset over the whole ' _spoiled_ ' dilemma. She'd have to speak with him once they were alone, and reassure him.

"Goodbye Harvey, and thank you." She said before Oswald and her could walk away.

"Anytime Ro. Say hi to Fish for me." Rosalie tossed him a shrewd look over her shoulder and he made an obscene gesture with his hands before indicating between her and Oswald. She rolled her eyes while the sound of his laughter hung with them to the doors of the GCPD.

"We'll have to take a cab to my apartment," She told Oswald as they stepped outside to the pavement. "I live on the eastside. That's not too far for you is it?"

"Not at all. I know this city well, though I have never been to the eastside for any long amount of time." He confessed somewhat sheepishly, adding on an awkward laugh that was high pitched from his fair voice.

"Come on, the night isn't over yet." She grabbed his hands and dragged him along as she signaled for a passing cab to stop.

She all but threw herself into the vehicle as it pulled to a stop, letting the door boisterously fly opened for Oswald to follow in alongside her. She gave her address before sitting back against the stiff and scratchy seat. The car was old, and it smelt faintly of smoke and pine air freshener. As she continued to observe the rest of the car, she couldn't help but notice how tense Oswald was sitting beside her. When they were driven around the city by Phillip, they had the larger car where they could sit across from one another, but now she was directly beside him, and he seemed glued to the door, adamant on not touching her.

She sighed before reaching for his hand. He jumped from the contact. "Oswald I'm not upset anymore."

He turned his eyes slowly on her, disbelief marked there as he breathed in deeply. "I was horrible to you."

"I don't want you punishing yourself," She told him sternly. "And maybe I am spoiled . . . wouldn't be the first time I've heard that."

"No, you're not." He said, suddenly holding on to her hand tightly as he shifted closer to her.

The movement startled her almost as much as the look in his eye, and she wanted to slap herself for not seeing it before. It wasn't just friendship he felt; it was something more dark and dangerous. His hands trembled with it as they held onto her one, pulling her close until her fist rested against his chest. The rhythm in his chest was strong and steady, and she wondered if his coyness was an act to draw others in. She was certainly breathing heavier because of the proximity, and she swallowed a thick lump that felt dry and sticky in her throat.

"Oswald," He was watching intently, hanging on her every word. "Can I have my hand back now?"

The light returned to his blue eyes, and he retracted his grip almost immediately, but not before he allowed his fingers to trace down to her wrist first. "Of course. I apologize for my inappropriate actions."

"No harm done." She assured. So why wasn't her heart slowing down?

They spent the rest of the cab ride in silence. Their warm breath fogged the windows as a light rain started in the sky, and Rosalie knew she would be spending another night alone. That was of course, unless Oswald decided to stay with her. It had been so long since she had had a guest, and it left her with this great ball of confusion floating in her brain.

They stopped at her building and she paid the fare despite Oswald's protest of wanting to split. In truth she felt guilty for his disheveled appearance because of the mugger, and it was the only way she could make amends. Better she be broke from ridiculous cab fare rather than a street tough.

"This is a lovely building." Oswald commented as he held her door for her. He looked lost without his umbrella, and she noticed the annoyed look he shot at the night sky as it continued to rain on them.

"I suppose it is, but honestly I always feel so alone when I come back here."

Oswald breached the gap between them by reaching for her hand, and she didn't shrug him off when she could have. Should have even. The only one to see them together was her doorman, and she doubted if he noticed much these days since he had returned to work with an eye patch.

"Evening Ms. Scangarelo."

"Hello Ralphie," She greeted in return. "It's just me and a friend tonight."

Ralphie seemed to jump out of his uniform at the sight of Oswald, and he quickly bowed his head again as he shut the door to the lobby. "Very good ma'am."

Rosalie shrugged with a confused look at Oswald. Her companion had gone entirely quiet during the meeting, and he wore an expressionless mask. "Poor fellow returned with that injury at the start of the week. I think he has a gambling problem." She explained as they stepped into the elevator to take them to her floor.

"That is unfortunate." Oswald replied coolly.

She didn't think anything of it, and they kept a close distance together as they rode up the floors to her apartment. She shared the floor with only one other couple, and they were away on vacation in the Caribbean. Rosalie actually missed having neighbors, especially in a city like Gotham. It was nice to know others were around, for securities sake.

She led Oswald to her front door, awkwardly having to shake his hand off before he took the hint to let go so she could search for her key. He had the humility to look embarrassed, though he appeared equally as fascinated by where she resided, his eyes lighting up as she walked him inside the dark apartment. She hung her coat at the peg by the door while slipping off her heels, Oswald following her example. She shuffled around in the dark, looking for the lamp on the side table in the living room before switching it on to bathe the room in a warm glow. A surprised yelp escaped her as she found Oswald standing right behind her. He caught her by the shoulders with a laugh that did not feel so innocent.

"I did not want to startle you, though I suppose I should have announced my presence."

"It's alright," She said as her hands came to rest at her sides. "You could have called me Rosy I suppose."

Oswald looked guilty as he stepped away from her. "That was an unintentional slip."

She closed the gap between them again, admiring the difference between height. "That's okay; I liked it." She turned around before him, shaking her hair free from the wig before parting it over her shoulder. "Would you unzip me please?"

A good time passed by before she felt Oswald's shaking hands on the zipper of her gown. She cherishes the brush of his cool knuckles as they grazed down her spine as more of her back was exposed inch by inch. It ended at her tailbone, and she shivered from the phantom fingers that lingered there momentarily. "All done."

"Thank you Oswald," She said politely with a smile. "You can use the washroom to freshen up if you'd like. I'm going to change."

"I do look a mess, so I will take you up on that offer."

"It's this way." She directed while walking through to her bedroom with Oswald. His eyes weren't so discreet as they surveyed the large bed in the center of the room, looking at it like it was some kind of majestic vessel. She hid her smile as she went to her drawers, disposing of the wig and earrings as she watched him through the mirror. "It's just through there." She pointed as he stood stationary at the doorway.

He jumped out of his thoughts and nodded quickly before scurrying towards the door of the bathroom. She smiled as the handle clicked shut, a gentle touch much like the man himself. Her search for something to change into started as she pulled opened the first drawer, shifting articles aside as she considered what would be appropriate for the innocence of the visit. Something silky and black caught her eye, a little slip of satin for the night and she smiled gleefully as she fingered it in her grasp. The door to the bathroom was still shut, and she moved quickly without a second thought before she could change her mind. Rational thought was boring anyway, and she wanted something more stimulating out of her Halloween. A lot could be changed with a bit of black lingerie, and Rosalie set to work on proving her theory as she slipped out of her dress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rating up ;)


	7. Day 4: His Venus

Oswald breathed heavily as he looked at his damp face in the mirror of Rosalie's lavatory that she shared with her fiancé. It was all he could think about as he stole a look at the room with a sweep of his eyes. From the smooth white bar of soap to the large Jacuzzi tub with the steps in the corner, he had stood in awe, only because they were the two things in the room that directly related to Rosalie with her clothes off. The guilt consumed him then, and he grew sick of his reflection—more than usual. He shouldn't have been having inappropriate thoughts about her, not when she hadn't shown the slightest inclination that she would ever welcome him to. They were friends for the moment, and he would be careful not to stray over that line after his poor performance from earlier in the evening. Oh how foolish he had behaved.

He was thankful for her, and the opportunity that she had permitted him to her facilities. Without the cold sweat from the night dampening the flesh of his face, and his hair groomed back as best as he could get it to settle, he felt he looked at least presentable. He had taken his cufflinks off, leaving them on the edge of the sink while his sleeves had been rolled back to his elbows. His waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his jacket had been discarded as he had let the warm water flow onto his fingers in the sink. It was a queer feeling to present himself so informally, like a knight sadly stripped of his armor. His attire was precious to him; it created an image of someone cut of sophistication and pomp, despite that being a lie. With all of that, it wasn't the biggest lie about him, and it grew easier to live with over the years.

He took one of the dove white towels folded under the sink and dabbed his face of the excess water. Behind the door he had not heard Rosalie except for the dull thud of fabric hitting the floor; her evening gown. It had been difficult to keep from pressing himself up against the door, or worse leaning on the handle until it would have ' _accidently_ ' clicked open. This was a dangerous battlefield he found himself in, disguised in contemporary décor and pleasant incense. He would need to leave soon.

Oswald left the bathroom after finishing his cleanup; jacket draped over one arm with the soiled towel in the other. He was led back into the bedroom that was deserted, save for Rosalie's dress still disposed of on the floor. It was likely still warm from her body too, but be didn't dare approach it. In fact he made a point of walking around it, like it was a vicious guard dog, to avoid his temptations.

The doorway led him back to the living room and the kitchen area. The open concept was much more spacious than his mother's home, but it led to feelings of discomfort because he could be seen just as soon as he entered a room. He could spy Rosalie just as easily too, her back to him as she stared out at the skyline of Gotham from the living room window. He swallowed at the vision of her in a pink satin robe, the belt snug around her waist while the hem ended above her knees. She looked like Venus risen up from the sea in the coral hue, though a more primal instinct in him wanted for whatever lay beneath the silky veil. He approached with cautious steps, though his shoes suddenly felt too big for his feet and he was left stumbling on the way over. Luck was on his side when she didn't turn to face him until after he had corrected himself.

"You look refreshed," She appraised with a heartfelt smile. It was almost as bright as the lights to the city just beyond her window. "Do you feel better?"

"Considerably regenerated. I'm not sure what you would like me to do with this?" He asked with the towel lying limp in his hand.

"I'll trade you that for this." She handed him a small pink box with a black tie unraveled on the top of the sealed lid. The poetic enthusiast in him half expected a heart to be inside.

"What is this?" He asked.

"Well, you could always look inside," She teased while he blushed. "They're cannolis from my favorite bakery. I shouldn't eat too many because I'm trying to watch my weight, but I haven't met a bad cannoli. I think I'd be tempted to eat one even if it was poisoned."

If they were as delicious as she said, he'd have to taste one, though he didn't understand the comment about her weight; she looked to be in perfect proportion to him. The poison advice was useful as well, and he tucked it into the back of his mind for later use before reaching a hand into the box for one of the desserts. The crust was crumbly with a hint of cinnamon, and the filling was creamy and smooth on his palate. Rosalie seemed satisfied with the dreamy expression on his face, though it nearly quickly turned to choking as she wiped away left over cream at the corner of his lip. She sampled it off of her finger, closing her eyes in enjoyment, and it caused his blood to rush through his body with yearning.

"So what do you think?" She inquired with an innocent smile.

"My hunger has been aroused." She laughed with her hands together over her chest, shaking from his mistake. "Roused—I meant roused of course."

She hummed with a knowing look while offering him her hand. "Come sit with me."

He brought the box of cannolis with them, setting it down on the coffee table before she pulled him back down beside her on the sofa. It was cold and made of leather, the material of his pants causing him to slide down further in his seat when he shifted. Rosalie's hair brushed against his shoulder, her long and natural hair that was now free from the heinous wig. It was late into the night and Halloween would soon be over, but that didn't stop her from hitting the play button on the remote to start the movie. As if Oswald could focus on anything but Rosy's body heat up against his side. She smelt like vanilla and whatever she had been drinking at Miss Mooney's club. Perhaps she tasted something similar, or so Oswald liked to fantasize.

"You're so quiet tonight Oswald," Rosalie said, her distraction shifting from the TV to him. He swallowed nervously as she leaned closer, the flap on her robe dipping on her form for him to see the tops of her breasts secured in black lace. Gosh they looked soft, and supple. "You're not still thinking about earlier are you?"

So much had happened earlier that it was difficult for him to pinpoint just exactly what she meant. Her words of friendship still haunted him, and it was more of a problem now when he was faced with the lust to lean closer into her. Self-gratification, as he had been taught, wasn't a respectable trait, but what he sought from her was way more. Her robe kept slipping further and further down her front, and he wanted to push her back into the couch cushions while free to bury his face into the center of her chest. There was a sweet spot between her breasts that he was hungry to taste.

"My apologies Rosalie, but my thoughts seem to be drifting elsewhere," He said respectfully.

"Your thoughts are on something else, or someone else?" She paused the moment in the film—he understood her costume better after see Marisa Tomei—and turned to her side to completely look at him. "Am I the someone else?"

"I do think about you often." He admitted bashfully.

"Oh I know," She said while crawling onto his lap. His hands felt like two logs as they hung useless at his sides, too afraid to touch her even as he watched her olive tanned thighs part over his legs. Her hands ran down from his shoulders and over his clavicle while he watched her with a more passive face than he would have thought he could muster in that situation. "You weren't great at hiding what you felt."

If that was true, and from Miss Mooney's warning it had to be, he'd have to be more careful if he wanted to keep them both from harm. "You saw straight through me then?"

"Yes, but I think you wanted me to. It's a provoking idea too." She swayed her hips forward until she brushed against the place between his legs that caused his sex to throb painfully, and he was all too reminded of his encounter with the woman in the hotel.

"We should stop." He said as his hands finally found purchase at her hips to shove her aside. The dejected look on her face made him feel low, but not as sad as the thought of where he had last had his cock. There was an invisible sheath painted on his skin that made him unworthy to have Rosy in that way, regardless of his feelings.

"Did I not do a good enough job of convincing you?" She asked in a voice smaller than it should have been.

"Convincing me?"

She sighed before pushing up from her seat completely. "So I see. I'm inexperienced I'll admit, but this was my best plan to surprise you." She stood between his legs as he stared up at her in awe from the couch. When she presented her hand to him, he took it without question, and she guided his fingers up her waist to the tie of her robe. With their hands intertwined, she began to pull the knot free, the silk gliding like a ribbon as it fell undone. Letting go of his hand, she took a step back and pushed at the shoulders of the robe until it landed in a pool at her ankles. She was left standing exposed in black, so delicate and tight on the places it enveloped, like fine scripture on parchment. Oswald had the most difficult time keeping his eyes on her before the heat in his face would become too much to handle. He felt like a boiling kettle whose top was going to sail through the ceiling. All of that previous sweat and adrenaline he had worked to rid himself came flooding back, and he started a nervous laugh that was completely humiliating.

"Is this better?"

 _Certainly_. And boy did he want to reach out and touch her if it wouldn't have been completely inappropriate. "You should put your robe back on before you get cold."

"Oswald, please look at me," She pleaded while his gaze remained fixed on the coffee table behind her. "Is this not what you wanted?"

 _Yes, I want this_. "It would be unprofessional to continue. I should leave."

" _Don't look anymore Ozzy, or you'll never walk out."_  The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like his mother's, and while that alone was discouraging enough, he knew he had made the right choice to say no. It would save them both, from Miss Mooney, Don Falcone, and Dominic. He was protecting them.

"Not so fast," Rosalie's hard voice interrupted his momentary victory as she rested her hands on her naked hips in a manner that was attractively irate. "Do I get a say in this? Because I've made a decision of my own as well."

His eyes met hers just as she found her way into his arms. Those strong hands of hers, hands that had previously wielded a gun, wrapped around his neck while she stood on her toes to kiss him. His hands moved like magnets to steel on her body, and his resolve was pushed back down as he grabbed a handful of each cheek of her backside. Oh my was it soft to touch, and the flesh was so pliant under his fingers as he squeezed. He devoured the groan that poured from her lips, backing her knees against the L-shaped sofa as he guided her down onto the cushions. Her legs snaked around his waist, holding him to her as she fisted the material of his shirt in her hands. It was getting harder to breathe, and he felt light headed from all of his blood supply circulating to his groin. The angle of the kiss caused his nose to awkwardly rub against her cheek, but she made no protest, in fact, her enthusiasm was felt against his lower half as her hips gyrated against him.

"No Rosalie, we have to stop." He was panting heavily as he pulled away from her bruised lips. He tried to stand from the couch, but she had a firm grip keeping him there with her calves squeezing around his waist.

"What's wrong?" She asked with concern, her hand reaching up between them to rest against his cheek.

He leaned into her touch with a sigh, closing his eyes as he fought to focus. His need to satisfy himself within her was strong, but not nearly enough to cloud his judgment of how precarious the situation was. "I need to leave before I do something untoward."

"Good, I want you to do something untoward," She said huskily as she nipped at the end of his nose playfully. He lurched forward with a groan as her hand reached down between them to grasp at his length through his trousers. "I think someone wants out."

"Rosy," He groaned as she tightened her grasp on him.

"Oh, I love it when you call me that," She cooed. "Don't you want this? Isn't it what you've always wanted?"

It had been since he had touched her hand in Miss Mooney's club, but it had turned into much more in the passing days. He'd called out her name while with another woman, a seedy evening he had paid for with more than just the notes in his wallet. What would he be risking if he went through with this now?

"I should not listen to my baser instincts . . . we're friends."

She frowned from the reminder of her own words from the street. "If that's what you want."

Her legs unwound from his waist and she gave him an encouraging push on the chest to get him up from atop her. He stood lamely with his hands at his sides while she reached for her robe on the floor, tugging it back on while she pulled at the tie on the waist. It felt like a crime to have her cover up such beauty, and he felt worse than a criminal for causing the despair on her face. It seemed that neither of them knew what to say, but they were saved the trouble as the loud blaring of her phone started to ring in the room and she stood up to answer it. The soft sound of her bare feet padding across the floor was something he would have loved to hear every day.

"Yes…I'm already here…you're not coming home..?" He guessed from her half of the conversation that it was Dominic on the other line, telling more tales that thinly veiled his deception. "Alight…goodbye."

She rested the phone down on the table before crossing her arms over her chest. She did not turn to face him, but Oswald could see the tears building in her eyes through the reflection of the window. Her chin was tilted down and her brows were pinched together as she tried to fight the melancholy that she was feeling in that place inside her head.

"You can let yourself out. I'll see you tomorrow," She said curtly.

It should have ended there. He should have taken her advice and walked out of her lavish apartment, and begged for her forgiveness the following morning. His attention span was somewhat lacking though, and directions were difficult to follow when your heart is singing to an entirely different tune. He quietly approached behind her until he was just a breath away from touching. She saw him through the glass first, and an odd array of emotions flickered on her face as he secured her in an embrace from behind, pulling her to his chest as he smelt her soft hair. She began to cry new tears all over again, sputtering with defeat.

"I have to get out of this city Oswald, it's killing me!"

"No, stay with me," He whispered into her neck, speaking in soft sounds until she quieted and stilled in his arms. She was like a doll, one that too many had tried to dress and paint up for their own purpose. Oswald had his own agenda for her, but he thought his emotions and desires of love made him better than all of the others in her life who had tried to take control. "I'll stay with you."

She spun around in his arms, smiling and blinking away the tears as she held his face in her hands. "That's all I wanted."

He inclined his neck down towards her face, initiating another kiss that was much slower and more sensual than the first. A calming air washed over her and he was elated to be the one to fight away her sorrow. Carefully he tested his limits of how far he could go, his palm cupped above her breast, ready to hold if he wasn't feeling so apprehensive. Rosalie pushed herself closer to him, inadvertently driving her soft mound into his awaiting grasp. He thought he'd made an error, but her moans were only approving, and he gave a gentle squeeze while his other hand scraped up the back of her thigh. He stumbled forward with her in his hold until her back was pressed up against the glass of the window to the impressive view, her hair fanning out around her shoulders while the glow of the city looked like a halo above her head.

"That's cold!" She exclaimed, breaking their lip lock with the surprise of his maneuver.

Holding her up against the window with nothing but their silhouettes perceivable to the city sounded enticing, but he wasn't quite brave for such an act just yet. He was still a virgin in every other way but the one that counted. Rosalie could never know that.

"Would the bedroom be an alright location to continue with our passions?" He asked with his lips still close enough to brush upon hers.

"Yes Oswald, I think that would be capital," She teased, the laughter creeping back into her voice as the sadness washed aside. He set her back down to the ground and her hand immediately found his as she started to walk towards the bedroom. He couldn't describe what he was feeling then as the large bed came into view, but certainty seemed an apt word if he had to give it a label. There was no nervousness to be felt with Rosy; he knew he was safe with her.

"Are you frightened?" He inquired, wanting for there to be communication between them before they continued.

"Maybe . . . a little bit," She admitted. They stopped at the end of the bed, neither crawling into it as they looked at the vast land of undisturbed sheets. "Can we go a bit slower at first? I know it will hurt, but I trust you."

While he wanted to smile at her trust, he was left bemused by her other comment. "What will hurt?" He was not under the impression that sex was something painful. When he was with the woman at the hotel, she didn't seem to be in any amount of pain—she seemed to enjoy herself as a matter of fact, much more than he had.

"Oswald, I'm still a good Catholic girl," She replied, seeming to sense his befuddlement. "You know, wait until after marriage and all of that stuff. I've never slept with anyone before."

Oswald had always prided himself on handling altering news, be it good or bad. His reaction that night in Rosalie's apartment to the knowledge of her being a virgin was not his best moment. A wave of heat flourished in his chest suddenly, and a bad sweat broke out across the back of his neck. It was getting difficult to see, like someone had turned the lights out in his brain, and a soft surface was felt beneath his backside. It took him a moment to realize it was the mattress catching him, and that was certainly not the way he wanted to end up there in her bed. He was supposed to be lost in ecstasy with her in his arms; instead he had ended up in hers while she whispered soothing words into his ear to try and coax him out of his fit. Rosalie's fingers carded through his hair, and he caught a glimpse of her worried expression before his world went black. It wouldn't be until he awakened that he would understand with much humiliation that he had fainted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Oswald, that's a lot to take in one night. I think his emotions were flying too high with all that had happened, though the air was cleared about their blooming emotions for one another. Sorry if this kills you all again, but next chapter will pick up right where this one left off, so no worries ;)


	8. Day 4: 'D' is for Deranged

Rosalie hummed quietly to the room as she waited for Oswald to come back to her. Her mind was still reeling over his reaction, wanting an explanation so she could decide on whether to be concerned or offended. Often times she found it difficult to decipher just what he was feeling, and he was good at hiding his secrets as well, the more than one that she was certain he had. All of that was a lot to think about, and Rosalie didn't want to for the moment, her body still alive and singing with need.

A groan from Oswald sounded beside her on the bed, and she sat up against the pillows as she waited for his eyes to open. They were glassy from exhaustion, but still that wonderful shade of pale blue that was frigid like winter ice. Growing more coherent, he took notice of her and sat up in a rush that made him moan from the speed. She scooted closer and rested a hand on his back as she waited for him to get himself together despite all of the questions threatening to pour from her mouth.

"Would you like a glass of water?" She asked softly, sensitive to his weary state.

"If it wouldn't trouble you," He replied weakly while his hand reached for his forehead.

Rosalie stepped away from the bed and through to the kitchen where she promptly filled a glass from the tap in the sink. She didn't want to leave Oswald unattended long, and she hurried back to her room to see that he hadn't moved from where she had left him in the middle of the bed, though his expression was a little clearer.

"Here you are." She handed him the glass as he offered a quiet ' _thank you_ '. Rosalie wasn't surprised when he drained the glass dry of the liquid. "Do you want another?"

"No, I am feeling far better now, thank you." His smile was small and forced as she took the glass from him, setting it down on the side table before she sat back down on the edge of the bed beside him. He fidgeted and looked down at his lap, color flooding his Dracula white complexion. "I suppose I have ruined the mood now with my little spell."

"No Oswald, there is still the whole night left. That is of course, if you wish to stay," She said while cupping his chin with her hand. "What happened back there?"

His eyes searched her with curiosity, and she didn't quite know what to think. "You would still want to…with me…after my poor form?"

It was good to know her efforts as a seductress where wasted. "Of course I would. It's been my plan the whole night."

"But to give yourself for the first time to me, are you certain that is what you want?"

"Oswald," She sighed while swinging her leg over his lap until she was content to sit atop him. He didn't seem to mind, and in fact she found his habits reminded her of a child's as his hands started to finger the material of her robe. His look was of contemplation was set by narrowed eyes and the slight pout to his lips, and he leaned a bit closer to her chest as he took an inhale of her scent. "Why do you doubt that?"

"Because you're so beautiful." The answer was completely callow, but that didn't mean she didn't appreciate it and become flustered with a crimson blush of her own. She suspected he had other reasons that went beyond that proclamation though, and she hated to think that the fairer sex had been especially cruel to him until now.

"We'll go slowly," She promised while slowly moving in to kiss him again, only to be halted as he sputtered with more words.

"Shouldn't we turn the lights off?"

Rosalie had been ignorant to the dim lighting of the room until now, only because it wasn't very bright to begin with. "I'm not shy, and you don't have to be either."

He laughed awkwardly, and Rosalie knew he was about to go into another bout of self-consciousness that would prevent them from moving forward. She had to make a move fast, and her first thought was to shut him up with an ardent kiss that sent him right back into the pillows. He sounded his appreciation and his hands squeezed at her hips still clad in the silky skin of her robe. Her hands tugged lightly at his hair, and she could already feel the renewal of his passion coming back to life as their hips connected. It didn't take his hands long to seek out the tie to her robe and pull it free once more, and she broke away from the kiss to push the garment from her shoulders. Oswald was all wide eyed as he watched her from beneath, her hand shedding the robe from her form and dropping it to the floor beside the bed. His stare was admiring, like he was looking at a scenic view and not a woman.

"Here, sit up and help me with these straps," She said as she slowly traced the left strap of her black bra down her arm.

Oswald sat up with her still on his lap, looking mildly nonplussed and terrified by her actions. His fingers were cool and hard, taking the flimsy material between thumb and index finger while dragging it down her arm. He did so with the right side as well, and Rosalie finished the task by reaching behind her back for the clasp. Oswald was anxious enough as it was, and when he got a look at her bare breasts, he was entirely frozen. She waited for him to do something, but only the air of the room caressed her.

"Oswald?" She asked, turning unnerved by his state.

His stare broke and he looked guiltily at her, as if he had done the wrong thing. "Forgive my lapse in consciousness, but I was entranced."

He slid his hands up along her ribs and stopped just under the line of her breasts before cupping the left one. It was divine, the pressure and the smoothness of his palm gliding over her bare skin. Her nipple tightened into a hard pebble, and it scraped against the inner side of his hand as he fondled the soft mound. She sighed from the pleasant feeling, and his other hand joined in the task of groping her other breast that caused her to tilt her head back, her hair spilling over her shoulders. He surprised her by lifting with his hips and dumping her on her back on the bed while crawling over her form. The sheets swooshed against the material of his pants, and Rosalie was quite focused on the need she saw between his legs now that he was more clothed than she was. His mouth peppered kisses between the valley of her breasts, and she pulled tightly at his hair, enough to make his eyes water.

"You're still dressed," She whined throatily, guiding his face up towards hers. "We have to change that."

His arms were shaky, but he managed to push himself up with both hands flat on the mattress while she fussed with the buttons on his shirt. His waistcoat was already undone, flapping back and forth as he continued to shake with those nerves of his that she knew so well. She patted him at the center of his chest, rubbing soothingly to comfort him. "We're fine here."

The last of his buttons were undone—except for the one on his trousers—and she helped him to take off his button-up and waistcoat, just as he had done with her. The man was pale and fair by the skin of his chest, sharp and taut like his personality, and Rosalie let her fingers play around his waist to his back, causing him to shiver like a feline. It occurred to her then that they had only known each other for three days—in this case four now that it was after midnight. Not a long time to know a person, especially in Gotham, yet it felt a lot longer somehow. He was better than anyone she had ever associated with in that God forsaken place, and she never would regret it later in all of the years to come.

"Rosy?" Oswald asked, and she realized her eyes were glassy from heavy thoughts. "Can I kiss you again?"

"Yes." She kissed him first instead, but he had heard her answer and joined in gladly. They touched each other endlessly, his hands caressing over her waist and to her legs while she grasped at his neck and arms. She was completely warm in all areas of her body, and she started to hurt from want as she throbbed every time he brushed up against her clothed sex with his stiff length.

Rosalie's fingers sought out the small, round, metal button on his trousers, his stomach muscles clenching as it popped free from the hole. She started to remove his pants with her legs pushing them down his waist, and he shimmied along with the movement to help her get them to his ankles. He had to work hard to get them off around his feet, and the sound of his belt buckle hitting her floor had Rosalie's heart racing. They were both in their underwear, lying beside each other on the bed while anxiously waiting for the other person to speak.

"I suppose in this circumstance, it wouldn't be poor form to ask if you have something to use for protection," Oswald inquired, his hands folded over his stomach as he turned his head to look at her. She smiled because his hair was disheveled from her fingers fussing with it.

"I do, but I'm also on birth control, so you don't have to if you don't want to," She offered. She hadn't asked him only because it felt inappropriate, but she suspected him of being a virgin, or at the very least inexperienced. He seemed put-off by the idea of not using a barrier between them, and so she instructed him of the condoms in the bathroom, frowning at his back as he left. She knew something was wrong.

He returned with the entire box in hand, his eyes reading the back of it intently. Rosalie couldn't resist teasing him playfully when he looked so young in knowledge. "The whole box; a little over eager aren't we?"

He sputtered with a blush that covered his body, and she was again drawn to the hitched material of his underwear. Likewise he was eyeing her nude front like it was his next meal. She sat up and patted the spot next to her, inviting him back to the bed so they could continue with their passions. He tore at the box of condoms with a new excitement in his eyes, and he grasped one of the small square foils in his hand with something akin to victory.

"Give it here," Rosalie commanded, her eyes darkening with lust.

"Why?" He asked reluctantly.

"Because it's better if a partner helps it on." She took the foil from his loose fingers, crawling on her hands and knees to his underwear that she proceeded to slip down his narrow hips. He whimpered and closed his eyes, shying away as she exposed him for her pleasure. He was naked to her eyes, and his member was swollen red with blood, begging for attention. She was feeling shy also, but she put on a brave face to keep them moving forward, and so she tore the foil wrapper and took the condom to the head of his length. He gasped from the sensation of her hand around his girth, eyes flying opened as she rolled the sheath down his cock. She kissed his cheek again, giving him a few pumps once the condom was in place.

"Now finish undressing me," She whispered in his ear, nipping at his ear lobe while he trembled. She moved on to her back, spreading her legs opened with the black lace still concealing her center. Oswald hovered over her and started a trail down her navel with one finger. He skimmed the rim of her panties before letting a finger creep under the fabric. He swiped the pad of his finger over her sweet dripping core before pulling back with a confused expression marring his face, nearly ruining the mood until he spoke. "You're completely smooth..?"

She laughed from his befuddlement. "You've never been with a girl who bikini waxes before?"

He had a blank look, as if he wasn't quite sure on what to make of the situation. "I don't understand."

"It's mostly for physical appearances. Some men like to kiss their girls down there." She felt flustered from explaining, but already Oswald's eyes were back gazing down at her with hunger, and he started to work her panties off by the waistband. His chilly eyes pinned a stare on her now exposed sex, glistening and red with want.

"Can I kiss you down there?"

His voice was high with desire and anxiety, and she melted at the request. Mercy, he was a timid wild one. "If you'd like to."

"I would do anything to you that would please you."

His willingness to accommodate wasn't surprising after she had spent the better part of the week with him. He took the meaning of kiss literally, planting his cold, thin lips against the folds of her core as he slid down the length of the bed. She let out a cry of delight at the new experience, digging her fingers into the roots of his hair to keep him in place. He was a quick learner, and just as eager, testing the amount of pressure she liked, and how she moaned when he gave a tug on her coated lips. When he found her clit, Rosalie was embarrassed to admit she was close to climaxing so soon, but the little bundle of nerves responded joyfully as he lavished attention to it with his tongue. His hands had quite the grip on her thighs, and he sounded his enjoyment as well as he collected her taste passed his lips.

"Oswald!" She squealed, arching her back off the bed as a steady finger found its way into her heat. Her walls clenched around the digit, and she shook with euphoria as his nail scraped lightly inside to ignite a tingly feeling. He chuckled around her as he pumped his finger in and out of her slick center.

"Do I make you feel better?" He was as out of breath as she was.

"God yes," She breathed. Her thighs began a furious quiver and a ball of heat bloomed in her stomach as she felt the heat wash over her. With a cry and a shake she came, tugging and clenching at the finger still inside of her. He helped her ride out the rest of her orgasm before withdrawing from her entirely. Her hair was sticking to her neck from the sweat covering her skin, and through her panting she hadn't noticed Oswald's return to her side.

"You taste delicious," He said candidly, licking her off of his lips and fingers.

She tilted her head up and kissed him chastely, tasting for herself while he gave her breast a firm squeeze. He rolled over on top of her, settling between her parted legs again with his cock jutting forward from between his thighs. He looked reluctant to advance, or unsure. Rosalie put her palm to his cheek, tilting his eyes up to hers as she nodded for him to continue. The head of his length brushed against her folds, and he lined himself up before pushing forward slowly. Rosalie chewed on the inside of her cheek to keep from making sounds of pain, knowing it would cause him to pause. It was unlike anything she had ever felt before, strange, foreign, and discomforting. Oswald stopped when he was about halfway through, a straining look pulling on his face with his hair plastered to his forehead.

"Should I stop?" He asked in a weak voice.

"No."

"Okay," He mumbled. "I…might not last long though."

"I just want to be with you Oswald," She assured.

The tension fled form his body after she spoke and he surged forward the rest of the way until he was seated comfortably within her. Rosalie's eyes widened and a flash of heat overtook her from the bursting she had felt within her. She wrapped her arms around Oswald's shoulders, the left hand locking into the hairs at the nape of his neck as he started an uneven pace of rocking his hips forward. The short little ruts started with a sharp, stinging pain, and she closed her eyes, hoping for it to pass. His length completely filled her, and she was fascinated by the sight of him disappearing into her body, and then reappearing as he drew back with his hips. The evidence of her last orgasm guided him forward with more ease, and she began to enjoy the sensation of him sliding to-and-fro within her silky core.

"Are you alright?" He asked, his worry clouded behind his lust.

"Yes, I'm better now."

He smiled crookedly at her, finding his rhythm once again. The strength in his arms was waning, and he let out a hiss of delight as her chest brushed up against his while he moved. She ran her hands down his back, stopping just above his waist as she dug her nails into his skin, the half-moon crescents sinking into his flesh.

"Ouch," He groaned lowly, giving her a dark look while she grinned back mischievously.

"I wanted to do that all night." She wrapped her legs up around his waist while her hands moved back up to his shoulders, securing herself to him as she bucked her hips up off the mattress. "Keep going."

He adjusted his angle before swiveling forward with his hips, both of them releasing moans. His pace had picked up considerably, and the harsh sound of flesh clapping against flesh reverberated through the apartment. Oswald had a twisted look of pain and pleasure on his face, and he bowed his head into her neck, sighing sounds of his restraint beside her jaw.

"I d-don't think I c-can go much longer," He gasped out remorsefully.

"Then let go." Rosalie loved to see him undone like this, and she felt blessed to be the one to bring him to that height.

He grunted and groaned, stilling completely deep within her as he came to his end. His lithe and cool body was a welcomed weight above her, and he rested himself down on top of her with his head resting on her chest. She felt content, a glow washing over her skin as her heart started to come back to its normal rate, beating beneath his ear for him to listen to. He blew out a breath from his lips, the air fanning over her skin as it prickled from the sensation. She chuckled at the feeling of his lips as he nibbled lightly on her skin, nuzzling his nose in the well between her breasts to seek comfort.

"How do you feel?" He mumbled quietly, but she was able to detect the doubt in his tone.

"Complete," She replied tiredly, while brushing a hand back through his sticky hair. "And you?"

"I feel loved," He remarked feverishly while hugging her tightly. "I love you Rosy."

Rosalie's heart ceased with emotion, and a long time passed without her making an answer. Maybe it was in the manic way he had said it, but she was struck with terror by the possessive hold he had on her. She knew there was care for him in her heart, and a great fondness as well, but it was much too soon for love. She had many questions for him about how he could love so quickly, but none of them ever came to light as she lied with her eyes closed, and him in her arms. He must have mistaken the long interlude of silence as her being asleep, because she felt his head turn to rest his chin on her chest, gazing at her with that piercing black and blue stare while speaking in whispered desperation.

"I know you love me too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It wouldn't be Oswald without that dash of creepiness! I live for that, and I quite enjoy the forgotten child in him that makes him into such an interesting adult. I am also blessed with such great fans (whom I finished this chapter for instead of writing my essay) and a special thanks to 'ohyourlipsaredelicous' for volunteering to make a fan video for this fic, and to 'Selene' who has a tumblr page for our little Ozzy!
> 
> Next chapter: More than one mother makes an appearance for our couple.


	9. Day 4: Hi, Hello, How Are You?

Oswald lied awake for what felt like hours, watching Rosalie with unblinking eyes. She was his pillow, and he quite enjoyed the softness of her chest for a place to rest his head down on. The scent of her floral perfume was sweet and tangy on his lips as he placed a kiss upon her skin occasionally. At some time in the night he had drifted off to sleep, warm and satisfied now that he had taken his lover in the bed of his adversary. There was no greater insult than to steal something precious from a man right on his own turf.

She was his now, Rosy was his! He loved her, and he knew she loved him too, for it was in her touch, the sounds she had made and the way she had felt around him. He longed to be welcomed into her body again, but she would need to recover first from their tender bruising affair. The stagnant air of her apartment was thick with sin and romance, and Oswald hoped it would embed itself in the walls for a life age to come.

When he awoke again, it was early morning and Rosalie had crawled her way out from under him, shrugging on her robe at the edge of the bed. Oswald reached over with his arm, wrapping his hand around her wrist. She jolted from surprise.

"You're awake!" She exclaimed breathlessly, smiling shyly once she looked back over her shoulder at him.

"Where are you going?" He rolled closer in the sheets until he snaked his arms around her waist, pulling her back on the bed with him. She let out a shrill laugh as he kissed her neck.

"Stay."

She tilted her chin down until her lips brushed his in a dry morning kiss. "I wanted to freshen up. You can come join me."

The idea of steaming water and a naked Rosalie was too tantalizing to pass up, and he was not too humble to admit that. He followed her out of the soiled sheets, the cool striking him as he followed behind her in nothing but his skin. The fact didn't bother him as he was quite comfortable with Rosalie's gaze on him, craved it even.

She leaned over the tub to twist the tap, warm water frothing as it hit the porcelain floor with the plugged drain. He took a step forward and brought his arms around her waist to the tie of the robe in the front. Their reflections were visible in the mirror, and Oswald could almost pretend that last night had been their first together...almost.

"May I disrobe you?" He asked softly, brushing her hair over her one shoulder to expose her smooth neck.

"Hmm, yes you're very good at that." Her hands covered his own and they pulled the knot free to expose her nude front. The silk robe fell at their feet between them before they slipped into the water together in the large tub. Rosalie's hair was long enough that the tips touched the surface of the water, fanning out around her like sunrays. Her pink nipples were at level with the water as well, and he had the desire to lick the beads of liquid from her two soft peaks. She flushed from the heated stare he gave her, and he changed into a red hue at being caught.

"Come here, I'll wash your back for you," She offered, her arm extending towards a dove white bar of soap. The water sloshed about as he obeyed her command, waiting for the feel of her slippery fingers on his skin. He loved bathing, and it was something special with Rosalie. The steam rising around them caused his hair to plaster to his forehead, though he might have been sweating with anticipation for her touch. And he was right to be, because it was glory!

"Not so tense now?" She inquired as her hands trailed around his scapula and down the ridges of his spine. Her legs were on either side of his waist, and she pulled her chest up against his back until the swells of her breasts were pressed snuggly to his body. "What if I do this?"

He whimpered as her hands went over his stomach with the bar of soap, in circles like two ice dancers. "Rosy..?"

She shushed him, nipping at his ear as her chin rested on his shoulder. "Can I touch something else?"

Her right hand disappeared under the water, and he grunted his compliance as she handled his cock as it transformed from halfway flaccid to full attention. The sensation was different this time, underwater and with no latex barrier between them. Of course he had worn one the other time with the other woman as well, but he still felt dirty regardless of the precautions. This was real, his first experience with a woman touching him bare and natural, and he leaned back into her with a strangled grasp. She chuckled softly into his neck as she continued with her toying, switching from fondling his sack to brushing her thumb over the head of his length. Her tongue scorched the skin of his neck as she pecked open mouth kisses in a pattern, and he thought he would faint from overheating. With one firm squeeze on his cock he came, spurting onto his stomach and into the water while she cradled him.  _So much for staying clean_.

"Good morning," She said into his ear with a smile, and he was sure he returned it with a half lidded one of his own.

He made tiny splashes with his hands in water, lazing about while basking in her company. "I love you." He said quietly, wanting for the acknowledgement this time.

There was a pause, and he felt her hands slide down across his arms. "Did you say that to me before?"

"You heard?!" He sat forward with abrupt glee, turning around in the water to face her head on. Her expression was a little more serious, and his gut tightened with fear.

"Oswald, we have to talk about that," She sat up as well, edging towards him.

"Why?" His voice shook anxiously, and he frowned in anger.

"You...you don't really know me all that well." Her back was pressed into the porcelain and he hovered over her with his arms trapping her on either side. "It's madness!"

"You call it madness, but I call it love." He brushed his lips lightly against hers and felt at her breast to which she consciously leaned into his touch. She seemed to tremble before him, little ripples traveling in the bath water like tremors from an earthquake. Her phone was ringing in the background of her apartment, screaming loudly until falling dead to their deaf ears.

"Oswald," She breathed, breaking the kiss with a hand to his chest. Her nails scraped lightly on his flesh, tearing at him for the drum that dully thumped in his center. His heart raced for the sound of his name.

"Does my honesty make you uncomfortable?"

"Maybe...just a bit."

"It's alright," He smiled suddenly, tilting his head slightly with a calculated look. "You can tell me when you're ready. I won't rush you, I promise."

Her frown led him to believe she didn't find his offer so charming or benevolent, and she didn't speak again as they settled in the water. His hand never drifted from her waist, and he quietly returned the favor of washing her body with the soap. Her silence was agonizing, and her skin prickled under his hands as he stroked with the soap, despite the warmth of the water.

"Rosy, are you mad at me?" He dropped the soap into the water with a ' _plop'_  and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, holding her back to his chest.

"No I'm not mad, I'm just confused," She tilted her neck back to gaze up at him. "But I'm glad you're here with me."

He combed his hand back through her hair and smiled. Both of them were beginning to prune from the water, and a chill replaced the heat that they had started with. She uncapped the drain and the water slowly dissipated from the tub. He gave her his hand as she stepped out first, admiring the shape of her body and the way the light reflected on her damp skin. His gaze might have lingered too long, because she soon shielded herself in a terrycloth robe before handing him a fresh towel. Her playful side reared again when she stood up on her toes beside him and pulled her fingers through his damp hair, causing it stick up in spikes. The act made him feel young, and he blushed like a boy instead of the man who had taken her in her bed. The question of ' _what next_ ', came to mind, but there was a horrible interruption that made Oswald lose the color in his face steadfast.

"Oh God," Rosalie said as her head spun to the closed bathroom door. Someone was knocking at the main entrance to her apartment, and in all of the excitement of joy, they had forgotten about Dominic. "Stay here."

"But my clothing is all over your bedroom," He pointed out; hating that he chose that moment to be brusque.

"Then get dressed and stay silent. It might not be Dominic; he has a key so he shouldn't be knocking."

Rosalie's hair flowing behind her was the last sight he saw of her as she vanished from the bathroom and passed the bedroom without any regard before shutting the door. Oswald tiptoed quietly from the ensuite and into the bedroom where he tracked down his scattered apparel. He slung his trousers on quickly up his legs, and his shirt was halfway to being buttoned as he was stuck on where his other sock had ended up. It appeared to him as he finished righting his waistcoat, black and twisted up in the satin sheets was his sock. He took a moment, admiring those sheets which were so silky and welcoming, and he hated that he would be back in own starchy ones soon enough, without Rosy's body heat to stave off the persistent chill.

Aggressively he tugged back to liberate his sock from the mass of material, stumbling a bit as it revealed a small stain in the center of the sheet. He took a step closer, taking to his knee on the mattress as he lightly brushed his fingers over the red blot. It was dry to his touch, the remains of her innocence that she had given him in breathless moans and pained tears. He smiled coyly, wanting to take the sheet from the bed and display it like a flag for all to see. The chambermaids of history used to gush over this sort of thing, when a fresh queen was deflowered; only he was the king who had conquered this time.

The door snapping shut in the other room alerted him to another presence in the apartment, and he abandoned his fantasizing as he stepped into his other sock, shuffling across the room in stocking covered feet as he pressed his ear up to the bedroom door.

" _Mom, hi!"_  Rosy exclaimed with an overzealous amount of cheer.

" _Hello, how are you darling?"_  The voice was light and caring in only the way a mother's could be. She sounded pleasant enough. Oswald's nose was sampling the scent of wood on the door as he so desperately clung to it, wanting to be on the other side and not the secret in the shadows.

" _I'm alright mom, why?"_

" _Well I had phoned before coming over here, but you never answered my call."_

" _I was showering."_ Rosalie excused.

" _And I asked your doorman Ralphie if you were here. He said you hadn't left all night, and that you had company who never left either."_

That scum Ralphie, he had done that on purpose as retaliation for his ruined eye. Oswald let his hands clench in anger at his sides, while the rest of his body tensed and strained to hear what Rosy would say.

" _Yes, I had a friend come home with me after we were nearly mugged on the street. I was scared to be alone, so Oswald offered to stay."_

" _My God Ro, are you alright?"_ Her mother's voice had risen with concern, and Oswald presumed the lapse in silence was for them sharing in an embrace.

" _I'm fine, we're both fine."_

" _Where's this friend now?"_  There was a flinty streak of curiosity in her tone, and the doubts of a mother who had written off the idea of anything platonic going on.

" _Freshening up. I'll go fetch him, if you just want to wait here and take a seat."_

Her footsteps drew nearer, and Oswald just managed to jump back from the door before he would have caught a mouthful of wood. She shut it quickly behind her before giving him a searching look.

"So I assume you heard most of that," She stated with that fierce look on her face that made him want to kiss her with urgency. "My mother's here for a visit, and you're going to have to meet her."

"I expected nothing less," He remarked confidently, to which she responded with a small frown.

"You're taking this rather well."

Of course, but what she didn't understand was his elation at the opportunity to charm one of the most important figures in her life. It was a power play; one he had full intentions of winning. This would be his first time being introduced to a woman's parent, and he would have thought himself to be more nervous than he really felt.

"I promise I will leave a lasting impression."

"Not without a tie." She reached for the thin strip of green felt and held it up to secure under his collar. This was a dream for him, her fixing his tie, and he wanted to experience it every morning. "There we are, good as new."

"If you think so," He replied cheekily.

She gave him one last scolding look before exiting the bedroom with him in tow. Her mother immediately perked up to their arrival, and Oswald was oddly surprised that Rosalie did not share many features with the woman seated adjacent to him on the sofa. The matriarch didn't have the same toasted olive skin that her daughter was colored in, and her short hair was a fair shade of yellow to Rosalie's caramel locks. She was more generous in hips, as any mother should be, and from what he could tell she was short in stature. Their facial features were similar however, with the same hazel eyes and button nose. While Oswald had noticed all of that, he was certain the woman had picked up a few things about him as well.

"Hello," She spoke with a forced smile, though it wasn't tight lipped with animosity.

"It is a genuine pleasure to make your acquaintance ma'am."

"Mom, this is Oswald. He's a friend, and he's been keeping me company this week," Rosalie explained. Much to his chagrin, he cringed at the use of the word 'friend' in her presence, and it did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Scangarelo.

"I hope my daughter hasn't been too much trouble for you Oswald," She said with a tactful look at Rosalie.

"Mom!"

"No, not at all. I've been enlightened by the experience." He beamed a smile, all because of Rosalie.

He must have used the right combination of words, because Mrs. Scangarelo's expression softened towards him before she looked at her daughter expectantly. "Ro, can I have a word with you for a moment, it's about your Uncle."

A lie. They all knew that too, but Rosalie respectfully stepped into the kitchen with her mother, leaving him to awkwardly fidget in the living room. The television was still paused on the film where they had abandoned it the previous night, and Oswald couldn't bring himself to continue without Rosy.

He took a stiff seat on the sofa, the cushions not as welcoming in the daylight as they had been with Rosalie's legs wrapped around him in the twilight. He shifted constantly while waiting for the ladies to return. He wanted to know what was being said, but there was no way for him to listen in on that conversation without getting caught in the act. Undoubtedly it was about him, but to what purpose?

"Shall we sit down for some breakfast?" Mrs. Scangarelo came waltzing back into the living room with a lively look, though Rosalie was much more quieted.

"That would be lovely." Oswald consented, smiling towards Rosalie in an effort to raise her spirits.

"I'll make you eggs and toast. You two have a seat, I'm better in the kitchen," Mrs. Scangarelo said while she ushered them to the small breakfast nook in front of the window. "Cream and sugar in your coffee Oswald?"

"Just cream thank you," He replied politely while he pulled out a chair for Rosalie beside him.

They sat quietly, the sounds of her mother puttering around the kitchen loud in the background as she dug through pans for a skillet. Oswald studied Rosalie carefully; her silence bothering him when he knew something dire had been said. He tried to get her attention, even calling her name softly, but she kept her head down, and it remained that way through the entirety of the breakfast. He shared more conversation with her mother about his work at the club, nothing titillating coming up unsuspectingly there because of who her husband had been. Oswald knew about Rosalie's father since before knowing her, and that he had died in prison from cancer. He'd gone to jail because he had refused to become a rat; leaving his wife and daughter for iron bars in the name of loyalty. It seemed absurd to abandon that which you loved most, but then Oswald was very careful about keeping what he loved separate from his business.

After finishing his scrambled eggs and buttered toast, they switched to lighter conversation over coffee. Rosalie piped up now and again with her opinion, but would quickly fall mute to her own thoughts after he would glance her way.

"Breakfast was lovely mom," Rosalie stated as she rose to clear the plates from the table.

"Do you need help with anything?" Her mother offered.

"No, I've got it."

With Rosalie gone to put away the dirty dishes, it left Oswald alone with Mrs. Scangarelo. She smiled at him, looking curious with some scrutiny his way. "You are from Gotham Oswald?"

"Yes ma'am, I grew up here. It's just me and my mother, and I make sure she is well looked after."

"A boy who is attentive to his mother, that's so sweet." She cooed in return with an impressed smile. "She must be proud of you, and the work you're doing."

More like his job would give her nightmares that would aid in her fear of sleep paralysis. "She worries."

"And my Rosalie, she worries for you too."

He swallowed thickly at the ascension of her perfect golden brow. "Ma'am?"

"Oh sweetie," She clucked her tongue, but her tone was not spoken with condescension. "Your mother would be able to see clearly what is going on here, as do I. Being close with Ro is dangerous though, and it would be unwise for both of you if it were to go any further into tomorrow."

"We're just friends." He said evenly, the light and cheer leaving his eyes as he spoke.

Her demeanor hardened. "Be certain it stays that way."

He sat stiff in his chair, sucking through his teeth to keep from lashing out at the woman. It wasn't so much her request that angered him, but more that her warning was irrefutably true. Dominic was in the way of his future, keeping Rosalie from him. It was quite possible that he could steal her out from under him, but the issue needed to be eradicated all together. The fiancé needed to go.

"Do you want more coffee mom?" Rosalie asked, popping out from the kitchen.

"No, actually I need to be leaving. I'm having lunch with Jeannie at the Plaza, and we're getting our nails done right after that."

"Oh, I'll let you out then," Rosalie said with some surprise as she followed her mother to the door.

Oswald watched from his periphery as they spoke in hushed tones. He felt like a separate entity from them; Mrs. Scangarelo slipping into a fur-lined coat while Rosy looked like his own Venus in just a bathrobe. It was difficult to focus through his quiet rage, and he breathed heavily through his nose, staring at the cup of coffee that had long since lost its heat. Not even the deep sound of the door closing on her mother's way out was enough to knock him from his reverie.

"Oswald?" Rosalie called tentatively as she returned to her seat beside him at the table.

"What did she say to you?" He asked harshly.

His waspish tone caused her to look surprised. "More like what did she say to you?"

He sighed and shook his head bitterly, ridding himself of the thoughts for now. "I choose to be exempt from her advice, so it matters little."

"You can't just absolve yourself of whatever she said." Rosalie leaned forward more in her chair as she reached for his hand across the table. He gladly took it. The warmth helped him to feel better.

"I've become skilled in ignoring words that don't please me," He said while tugging her up out of her seat, tapping at his lap with his other hand to indicate for her to sit down. She did so hesitantly, but he didn't notice any fear so he ignored any other mild discomforts it might have caused her just so he could have her close.

"The world doesn't work that way Oswald," She said quietly, resting her head down on his shoulder as they remained at the table.

"My new world will," He refuted as he thought about his plans for the future. "This city will be ours one day Rosy."

And they would never have to answer to anyone again. They would be free to be together. Looking out her window at the skyline of Gotham, he only saw the potential to grow, and the seeds were in his hand, waiting to be planted and showered upon. He would continue to fight against the disused and inane of Gotham, hating anything that was idle in his would be Empire. It began with his fingers creeping beneath her robe, feeling the softness of his Rosalie one more time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finals are coming up, and then it's Christmas break! Also, Gotham returns on my birthday, that's the best news I've received since it ended! Hmm so what do you think this all means? There isn't much room for fluff in Gotham, and I've shifted the tone pretty quickly. We'll see from Rosalie's POV next chapter, about what her mother told her and what she feels for Oswald now. I did have plans to get Mrs. Cobblepot into this chapter, but things went on a little longer at Rosy's apartment, so that will be next chapter.  
> Thanks again to Selene, her blog with artwork for Oswald is wonderful :)

**Author's Note:**

> Also on FF.net


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